The Evolution of Heroism, from Archetype to Myth: How Gilgamesh Survived Shifts in Political Theology in Ancient Mesopotamia

 by Mary Harrsch © 2026

This Early Dynastic cup from the Temple of Šara at Tell Agrab (in Iraq) and an Akkadian plaque from the reign of Naram-Sin reveal a remarkably stable heroic visual language with the “Master of Animals” motif spanning centuries of Mesopotamian history. In both objects, a nude, bearded male figure subdues dangerous animals through sheer physical strength. This continuity reflects not a single story, but a deeply embedded heroic archetype that long predates the written Epic of Gilgamesh.

This Early Dynastic–period cup, found in the Temple of Šara at Tell Agrab, predates the written Epic of Gilgamesh yet already presents the visual foundations of Mesopotamian heroism. A powerful male figure restrains two lions with his bare hands as they attack a sheep, embodying strength, control, and the protection of domesticated life. His near nudity emphasizes physical power rather than status, while his stylized beard signals authority and maturity. Lacking divine regalia or narrative specificity, the figure represents not Gilgamesh himself, but a heroic archetype—one that would later coalesce into the legendary king of Uruk. Placed within a temple dedicated to a martial, protective deity, the image underscores how heroic identity was ritualized before it became epic. Photographed at the Institute of the Study of Ancient Cultures, University of Chicago, by Mary Harrsch.

The Early Dynastic cup from the Jemdet Nasr period (ca. 3100-2900 BCE) shows a powerful full frontal male figure restraining two lions in a symmetrical presentation as they attack a sheep. He is unnamed, unarmed, and not marked as divine with a horned crown or indications of attendants. His near nudity and exaggerated physicality emphasizes strength rather than rank, while his stylized beard signals authority, maturity and potency. In Mesopotamian art, heroes are often shown bearded even when gods may be clean-shaven or abstracted differently.

During this period, the city-states of Uruk, Ur, Lagash, and Kish rose to prominence and kingship ideology was in the formative stage. Found in the Temple of Šara—a deity associated with warfare and protection—the image functioned apotropaically, expressing the hero’s role as a guardian who stands between chaos and the ordered, domesticated world. At this stage, heroism exists as an ideal, not yet bound to a specific narrative.

By the later Akkadian period (2334-2154 BCE), this same heroic body type becomes more mythically charged. On the plaque from the collections of the Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussells, Belgium, the hero subdues a bull-like creature, often interpreted either as Gilgamesh defeating the Bull of Heaven or as a figure associated with Lahmu, a primordial deity linked to subterranean waters and frequently paired with the kusarikku (bull-man). These figures overlap iconographically because Mesopotamian art prioritized function over fixed identity. Power, protection, and mastery over chaos could be expressed through the same visual form, even when the underlying being—hero, god, or hybrid guardian—was not identified.

The resemblance between this Akkadian plaque and the earlier Jemdet Nasr cup underscores how Gilgamesh iconography evolved gradually. What begins as a generic heroic protector mastering chaos eventually acquires specific mythic associations, such as the defeat of the Bull of Heaven, without ever abandoning its earliest visual foundations. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons contributor U0045269. Photographed at the Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussells, Beglium.

Under Naram-Sin (2254-2218 BCE), this visual representation acquired new political meaning. Naram-Sin was the first Mesopotamian ruler to openly declare himself divine, collapsing the traditional boundary between god, hero, and king. In this ideological climate, heroic imagery simultaneously evoked myth, cosmology, and imperial authority. Yet this experiment proved deeply unstable as his reign was rent by numerous rebellions.

After the fall of Akkad, Naram-Sin was not remembered as a triumphant god-king, but as a doomed figure. The Curse of Agade portrays his reign as an act of hubris that led to divine abandonment and catastrophe. The message is unmistakable: kings may rule by divine favor, but they must not claim divine identity.

However, heroic imagery did not disappear—Gilgamesh endured, not as a model for living kings, but as a legendary figure whose story reaffirmed a core Mesopotamian truth: even the greatest hero remains mortal. His myth survived precisely because it respected the boundary that Naram-Sin crossed.

Seen across time, these images trace the evolution of heroism itself—from archetype, to myth, to political theology, and finally back to myth again. Gilgamesh did not invent the heroic image, nor did empire own it. Instead, Mesopotamian culture returned to him as a way to explore power without collapsing the fragile line between human and divine.

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