Preamble

I published the accompanying essay out of a conviction that many of the gravest conflicts and persistent social fractures in our world today trace their origins, at least in part, to the weight of exclusive religious claims rooted in the Abrahamic traditions. This is a difficult and controversial premise, but it is one I feel compelled to investigate and to bring into the public conversation: if Christianity, Islam, and Judaism – as they have been institutionalised over centuries – are demonstrably derivative of earlier religious systems and practices, then the notion that they possess unique, immutable divine authority becomes intellectually and ethically untenable. If that authority can be called into question, so too can the theological and political structures that use that authority to justify exclusion, domination, or violence. In short, exposing such derivation could open space for humanity to move beyond the divisive loyalties that have long been justified in its name.

First, let me be clear about what I mean by “derivative” or “plagiarised”: I am referring not to a crude accusation of literary theft but to the well-documented historical and anthropological observation that religious ideas, rituals, narratives, and ethical motifs circulate, adapt, and reappear across cultures and eras. Creation myths, flood narratives, laws regulating communal life, messianic expectations, and ritual forms are found in many ancient Near Eastern, Mediterranean, and African traditions predating or contemporaneous with the canonical texts of the Abrahamic religions. Modern scholarship in comparative religion and history of religions has, for decades, traced lines of influence, syncretism, and reinterpretation between older polytheistic traditions and later monotheistic formulations. To recognize such continuities is not to dismiss the genuine spiritual experiences or moral achievements of believers, but to subject religious claims to the same standards of historical inquiry we apply elsewhere.

Why does this matter? Because the claim to divine origin – that God uniquely revealed truth to a particular community and not to others – is what often grants religious institutions their moral and legal authority. It is this claim that can transform theological difference into political exclusion, doctrinal disagreement into persecution, and ritual boundary into social segregation. When a religious system is treated as the only legitimate pathway to truth or salvation, competing identities are not merely seen as different but as existentially wrong or dangerous. History provides countless tragic examples of how such convictions, intertwined with temporal power, have produced wars, forced conversions, discriminatory laws, and transgenerational resentments.

If, however, the narratives and doctrines of the Abrahamic faiths are recognised as part of a broader, shared human inheritance of religious thought rather than as infallible, sui generis revelations, the practical implications are significant. First, doctrinal absolutism loses some of its potency: revelation ceases to be an unbridgeable chasm and becomes a subject for critical, scholarly, and theological engagement. Second, the moral authority that has long been invoked to suppress dissent – within and between faith communities – becomes contestable in secular forums. This would make room for pluralistic, rights-based frameworks to settle disputes without recourse to metaphysical absolutes. Third, believers and non-believers alike could more readily find common ground in universal human concerns – human dignity, justice, compassion, and the flourishing of communities – without every ethical question being forced into the shape of sectarian dogma.

Introduction

The Abrahamic religions – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – stand as pillars of monotheistic faith, shaping the moral, cultural, and philosophical landscapes of billions worldwide. These traditions trace their origins to ancient texts, primarily the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament in Christian contexts), which purport to reveal divine truths about creation, humanity’s fall, and God’s covenant with chosen peoples. However, a closer examination reveals that these narratives are far from original revelations. Instead, they appear to be heavily indebted to earlier Mesopotamian myths, particularly those from Babylonian and Sumerian cultures. This essay argues that the foundational stories of the Abrahamic religions, especially in Genesis, are plagiarised adaptations of ancient Near Eastern epics, stripped of polytheistic elements and reframed to suit a monotheistic agenda. Drawing on Alexander Heidel’s seminal works, The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels (1946) and The Babylonian Genesis: The Story of Creation (1942), we will explore parallels in creation and flood myths, including detailed Sumerian influences on the Garden of Eden narrative, contextualised by historical evidence of Babylonian influence during the Jewish exile.

Heidel’s analyses provide a scholarly foundation for this claim. In The Babylonian Genesis, Heidel meticulously compares the Babylonian creation epic Enuma Elish with Genesis, highlighting structural and thematic similarities that suggest direct borrowing. Similarly, The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels dissects the flood narrative in the Epic of Gilgamesh against Noah’s story, revealing uncanny resemblances in plot and detail. These works, grounded in cuneiform translations, demonstrate that the biblical authors did not invent these tales but repurposed them from older traditions during a period of cultural assimilation.

The term “plagiarism” here is not mere hyperbole; it denotes the unacknowledged appropriation of intellectual content, often with modifications to align with new ideological needs. While ancient societies lacked modern copyright concepts, the biblical texts’ failure to credit sources and their presentation as divine originality constitute a form of literary theft. This argument is substantiated by archaeological and textual evidence, including cuneiform tablets from Nineveh and Nippur, which predate the Hebrew Bible by centuries. Critics may counter that these are shared cultural motifs or independent developments, but the specificity of parallels – down to sequences of events and symbolic imagery – points to deliberate adaptation.

Historically, the Babylonian Exile (597–539 BCE) provided the crucible for this synthesis. Elite Judeans, deported to Babylon after Nebuchadnezzar’s conquests, encountered sophisticated Mesopotamian literature, influencing the redaction of their own scriptures. This period, as evidenced by artefacts like the Jerusalem Chronicle and ration tablets naming Judean exiles, marked a transformative era where Jewish theology absorbed and monotheised polytheistic myths.

This essay will first examine creation myths, comparing Enuma Elish and Genesis, with an expanded exploration of Sumerian parallels to the Garden of Eden; second, analyse flood narratives from Gilgamesh and Noah; third, delve into the historical context of Babylonian influence; and fourth, address counterarguments. Ultimately, recognising these origins does not diminish the Abrahamic faiths’ cultural impact but underscores their human, rather than divine, construction.

Creation Myths: From Chaos to Cosmos – Enuma Elish, Sumerian Influences, and Genesis

The creation account in Genesis 1–2 forms the bedrock of Abrahamic cosmology, depicting a singular God speaking order into existence from formless void. Yet, this narrative bears striking resemblances to the Babylonian Enuma Elish, a poem dating to the 18th–12th centuries BCE, discovered in the ruins of Ashurbanipal’s library in Nineveh. Heidel’s The Babylonian Genesis systematically outlines these parallels, arguing that Genesis represents a demythologised version of the Babylonian epic, purged of its polytheistic violence to emphasise monotheistic sovereignty.

Enuma Elish begins with primordial chaos: “When on high the heaven had not been named, Firm ground below had not been called by name” (Tablet I). This mirrors Genesis 1:1–2: “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.” Both texts portray an initial state of watery disorder – Apsu (fresh water) and Tiamat (salt water) in Enuma Elish, and the “deep” (tehom, linguistically akin to Tiamat) in Genesis. Heidel notes that “tehom” is a cognate of “Tiamat,” suggesting direct linguistic borrowing, not coincidence.

The sequence of creation further betrays plagiarism. In Enuma Elish, Marduk defeats Tiamat, splitting her body to form heaven and earth (Tablet IV). Genesis echoes this with God dividing the waters above and below with a firmament (Genesis 1:6–8). Light appears before celestial bodies in both: Marduk creates light prior to stars (Tablet V), paralleling Genesis 1:3–5, where light precedes the sun and moon (1:14–19). Humanity’s creation culminates both accounts – Marduk fashions humans from the blood of slain god Kingu to serve the gods (Tablet VI), while Genesis has God creating man in His image to have dominion (1:26–28). Heidel emphasises that both end with divine rest: Marduk rests after labour, akin to God’s Sabbath (Genesis 2:2–3).

These similarities extend beyond structure to purpose. Enuma Elish served as propaganda elevating Marduk and Babylon, recited during New Year festivals. Genesis, likely redacted during or post-exile, counters this by asserting Yahweh’s supremacy without rivals. Scholars like Joseph Lam note that both texts address cosmic order from chaos, but Genesis polemicizes against Babylonian polytheism by attributing all acts to one God. The Priestly source in Genesis (P) deliberately inverts motifs: where Marduk battles chaos monsters, God effortlessly commands.

Linguistic evidence bolsters the plagiarism claim. Hebrew terms like “tohu wa-bohu” (formless void) echo Babylonian “tohu” (chaos). The seven-day framework in Genesis may derive from Enuma Elish‘s seven tablets. Even the Garden of Eden narrative in Genesis 2–3 parallels Mesopotamian motifs: the sacred tree, serpent, and human toil resemble elements in Sumerian tales like “Enki and Ninhursag.” Adam’s rib, a pun on Sumerian “ti” (rib/life), suggests direct adaptation.

Apologists argue these are universal archetypes, but the specificity – e.g., division of waters, light before luminaries – indicates borrowing. During the Exile, Judean scribes accessed Babylonian archives, as evidenced by cuneiform tablets mentioning Judeans in administrative roles. This exposure facilitated the integration of myths, reframed to assert Jewish identity against Babylonian dominance.

In Islam, the Qur’an’s creation narrative (e.g., Surah 41:9–12) echoes these, with Allah creating in stages from chaos, further propagating the plagiarised motif through Abrahamic lineages. Christianity inherits this via the Old Testament, interpreting it typologically. Thus, the creation myth’s plagiarism undermines claims of originality, revealing Abrahamic religions as syntheses of prior traditions.

Exploring Parallels Between Sumerian Myths and the Biblical Garden of Eden

The Garden of Eden narrative in Genesis 2–3 is one of the most iconic stories in Abrahamic traditions, depicting a pristine paradise where humanity begins, only to face expulsion after disobedience. However, scholarly analysis reveals striking parallels with earlier Sumerian myths, suggesting that the biblical account may have drawn from or been influenced by Mesopotamian traditions. These connections, rooted in ancient texts from Sumer (circa 3000–2000 BCE), highlight shared motifs of paradise, creation, temptation, and loss of innocence. While not identical, the similarities raise questions about cultural exchange in the ancient Near East, particularly during periods like the Babylonian Exile when Hebrew scribes encountered these stories.

This exploration draws on Sumerian epics such as Enki and Ninhursag and elements from the Epic of Gilgamesh, comparing them to Genesis. Key themes include the paradisiacal setting, human creation, forbidden knowledge or sustenance, the role of serpents, and explanations for mortality. These parallels do not imply direct copying but rather a shared mythological heritage, adapted to fit monotheistic frameworks in the Bible.

The Paradisiacal Garden: Dilmun vs. Eden

Sumerian mythology features Dilmun, a divine paradise often identified with modern Bahrain or a mythical realm in the Persian Gulf. In the myth Enki and Ninhursag, Dilmun is described as a pure land where “sickness and death don’t exist,” a place of eternal youth and abundance, transformed by the god Enki (associated with water and wisdom) who brings fresh water from the earth to irrigate it. This mirrors Genesis 2:8–10, where God plants a garden in Eden “in the east,” with rivers watering it and providing life. The Hebrew term ‘ed (mist or stream) in Genesis 2:6, which waters the ground, echoes the freshwater motif in Dilmun, possibly derived from Sumerian concepts of underground aquifers like the Abzu.

Both locales serve as divine estates. In Sumer, Dilmun is a “garden of the gods,” inaccessible to mortals, where deities reside and create. Similarly, Eden is God’s garden, with humanity placed there to “till and keep it” (Genesis 2:15), akin to humans serving gods in Mesopotamian myths. The Sumerian word “edin” (or “edina”) means “plain” or “steppe,” and some scholars link it etymologically to the biblical “Eden,” suggesting the Hebrew story localised a Sumerian geographical or mythical concept. Archaeological evidence, such as clay tablets from Eridu (a Sumerian city associated with paradise), places this “garden” near the confluence of rivers like the Tigris and Euphrates, aligning with Genesis’ four rivers (Pishon, Gihon, Tigris, Euphrates).

Differences exist: Dilmun is more a divine retreat than a human origin point, and it lacks the explicit moral testing found in Eden. Yet, the transformation from barren to fertile land underscores a common theme of divine benevolence creating ideal conditions for life.

Creation of Humanity: From Clay to Companions

Sumerian myths often depict humans formed from clay mixed with divine essence, a motif echoed in Genesis. In Enki and Ninhursag, humans are created to serve the gods, relieving them of labour – paralleling Genesis 2:5–7, where no one tills the ground until God forms Adam from dust (adamah, meaning earth). The Babylonian Enuma Elish and Atrahasis also feature creation from clay and blood, emphasising service to deities.

A particularly striking parallel is the “rib” episode. In the Sumerian tale, Enki eats eight forbidden plants in Dilmun, angering Ninhursag (earth goddess), who curses him with ailments in eight body parts, including his rib. To heal him, she creates eight deities, one being Ninti (“lady of the rib” or a pun on “lady who makes live”). This linguistically and thematically resembles Genesis 2:21–22, where God takes Adam’s rib (tsela) to form Eve (havvah, meaning life or living). The pun in Sumerian (ti meaning both “rib” and “life”) mirrors the Hebrew wordplay, suggesting direct influence or a shared archetype.

In both, the female figure brings resolution or companionship: Ninhursag heals through creation, while Eve is a “helper” for Adam. However, Sumerian creation is polytheistic and collaborative among gods, contrasting the Bible’s singular God.

Temptation, Knowledge, and the Fall: Forbidden Sustenance and Serpents

The act of eating forbidden items leading to curses is central to both. In Enki and Ninhursag, Enki consumes plants grown by Ninhursag, intended for gods, resulting in curses and pain (including painless births for goddesses, inverted in Eve’s labour pains in Genesis 3:16). This parallels Adam and Eve eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, gaining wisdom but facing expulsion and mortality (Genesis 3:6–7, 22–23).

Serpents play pivotal roles. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, a snake steals the plant of immortality from Gilgamesh, explaining human mortality – similar to the Eden serpent tempting Eve, leading to loss of access to the Tree of Life. The Myth of Adapa features a man tricked by Ea (Enki) into refusing food of immortality, akin to the deception in Eden. These serpents symbolise chaos or guardians, as in Canaanite myths of Lotan or the Greek Ladon guarding sacred trees.

The Tree of Life in Eden finds echoes in Sumerian sacred trees, like the “plant of life” in Gilgamesh or the cedar in divine gardens, often guarded and granting eternal life. Assyrian sacred tree motifs and Canaanite Asherah poles further connect to this.

Guardians and Expulsion: Cherubim and Divine Barriers

Post-fall, Genesis places cherubim with flaming swords to guard Eden (3:24). This reflects Mesopotamian hybrid guardians (like sphinxes or lamassu) protecting sacred spaces. In Gilgamesh, the hero passes through a divine garden guarded by scorpion-men at Mount Mashu. Dilmun’s inaccessibility to mortals parallels Eden’s barring after expulsion.

Implications for Ancient History and Cultural Exchange

These parallels suggest the biblical authors adapted Sumerian elements during cultural interactions, possibly via Akkadian (Babylonian) intermediaries. The Yahwist source in Genesis may have combined motifs from multiple myths – Dilmun for paradise, Enki’s rib for Eve, Gilgamesh’s plant for immortality – to polemicise against polytheism, emphasising one God’s sovereignty.

Critics argue these are universal archetypes, not direct borrowings, and differences (e.g., no explicit “fall” in Sumer) highlight biblical innovation. Yet, linguistic ties (e.g., “Eden” from “edin”) and historical context support influence. This underscores the interconnectedness of ancient Near Eastern cultures, challenging views of biblical originality while enriching understanding of how myths evolve.

In conclusion, Sumerian parallels illuminate Eden as part of a broader mythological tapestry, humanising these ancient stories as products of shared human imagination rather than isolated revelations. Further study of cuneiform tablets continues to refine these connections.

Flood Narratives: Gilgamesh and Noah – Echoes of a Shared Catastrophe

No parallel is more damning than the flood stories. Heidel’s The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels dedicates chapters to dissecting the deluge in the Epic of Gilgamesh (c. 2100–1200 BCE) against Genesis 6–9, concluding that the biblical account is a derivative, monotheised version of the Mesopotamian tale.

The Epic, preserved on 12 tablets, features Utnapishtim (the Babylonian Noah) recounting the flood to Gilgamesh. Gods, annoyed by humanity’s noise, decree destruction via flood (Tablet XI). Ea warns Utnapishtim to build a boat, specifying dimensions and sealing with pitch. He loads family, animals, and craftsmen. The storm lasts six days and seven nights; waters recede, and Utnapishtim releases a dove, swallow, and raven to test land. Post-flood, he sacrifices, and gods grant him immortality.

Genesis mirrors this: God, grieved by human wickedness, instructs Noah to build an ark with pitch, bringing family and animals (Genesis 6:5–22). The flood lasts 40 days (or 150 in P source); waters recede, and Noah sends a raven and dove (Genesis 8:6–12). He sacrifices, and God promises no more floods, sealing with a rainbow (Genesis 8:20–9:17).

Heidel lists over 20 parallels: divine wrath over sin/noise, a righteous survivor, ark construction, animal preservation, storm duration, bird tests, mountain landing (Ararat in Genesis, Nisir in Gilgamesh), sacrifices, and divine regret. Even details like the boat’s multi-level design and pitch sealing align. The Atrahasis Epic, an earlier flood tale influencing Gilgamesh, adds motifs like overpopulation as cause, paralleling Genesis’ “multiplied” humanity.

These resemblances extend to broader motifs. Gilgamesh’s quest for immortality post-flood echoes Eden’s loss of eternal life. Serpents in both deny immortality – stealing a plant in Gilgamesh, tempting in Genesis.

Historical evidence confirms transmission. The Epic, widespread in Mesopotamia, would have been accessible during the Exile. Tablets from Nippur name Judean exiles in business, implying cultural exchange. The biblical flood composite (J and P sources) likely incorporated these during exilic redaction.

In Christianity, the flood typifies baptism and judgment (1 Peter 3:20–21); in Islam, Nuh’s story warns of divine punishment (Surah 71). Yet, these derive from Mesopotamian originals, not revelation.

Critics claim independent origins from a real flood c. 2900 BCE, but textual specificity argues against it. Genesis sanitises polytheism – gods’ squabbles become God’s singular will – indicating deliberate plagiarism to forge a monotheistic narrative.

Historical Context: The Babylonian Exile as Catalyst for Borrowing

The Babylonian Exile (597–539 BCE) was pivotal, as Judean elites encountered Mesopotamian culture firsthand. Nebuchadnezzar’s sieges of Jerusalem (597, 586 BCE) deported thousands, documented in Babylonian chronicles and Judean artefacts. The Jerusalem Chronicle details the 597 capture, aligning with 2 Kings 24. Arrowheads and ash layers from Mount Zion confirm the 586 destruction.

In Babylon, Judeans integrated into society, as seen in al-Yahudu tablets showing land ownership and Yahwistic names. Ration lists name King Jehoiachin, corroborating biblical exile. This assimilation exposed scribes to Enuma Elish and Gilgamesh, recited in temples.

Post-exile, under Persian rule, the Torah was compiled, incorporating these influences. Deuteronomistic historians reframed myths to assert Yahweh’s uniqueness, countering Babylonian polytheism. Even goddess Asherah, once paired with Yahweh, was excised, reflecting Babylonian impact on monotheism.

This context explains plagiarism: exile necessitated theological adaptation, borrowing myths to preserve identity.

Counterarguments and Rebuttals

Opponents argue Genesis is unique, not borrowed, citing differences like monotheism vs. polytheism. They claim shared motifs reflect common ancient cosmologies, not plagiarism. Some posit Genesis predates Mesopotamian texts or derives from oral traditions.

These fail scrutiny. Differences arise from deliberate editing to monotheise; sequences and linguistics prove dependence. Exile timing aligns with redaction, not earlier origins. Apologetic claims of “polemic” admit influence while denying plagiarism, but adaptation is theft when uncredited.

Conclusion

The Abrahamic religions’ core narratives are plagiarised from Mesopotamian epics, as evidenced by Heidel’s works and historical records. This borrowing, forged in exile, crafted enduring faiths from ancient myths. Acknowledging this humanises scripture, inviting re-evaluation beyond divine claims.