COMMENT
Michael Wood on… The rise and fall of the first cities in the world
“We lament the loss of all the good things that come with city life”
Watching with horror the destruction of Mariupol in Ukraine – the obliteration of a city of more than 400,000 people – my mind went to other cities, other times. More than 30 years ago, in the aftermath of the war with Iran, I went to southern Iraq, the heartland of ancient Sumer, and the sites of Nippur, Eridu and Uruk – the first true cities on Earth.
Today the ruins of Uruk lie out in a windswept desert. Walking its six-mile circuit leaves an unforgettable feeling of the transience of human achievement. The site is 100-feet deep in debris; one’s feet crunch Ubaid pottery and Sasanian glass, the detritus of more than 5,000 years of city life. The birthplace of writing, science and literature – the Epic of Gilgamesh was written here – the city died at the time of the Arab conquest in the seventh century, dried up by climate change. It is home now only to Bedouin nomads. Nippur, the sacred city of Sumer, survived longer, to the 13th century AD. A Christian bishopric, a Jewish school and a famous Sufi scholar are all testimony to its vibrant religious life.
These cities were packed with treasure, art, rich fabrics and exotic merchandise. But Iraq was a flat plain with no natural borders. Its cities were always targets for outsiders, and were destroyed time and again. As a result, a uniquely powerful genre of literature grew up: congregational laments for the destruction of cities. These began around 2,000 BC and lasted through the whole of the ancient world, sung to music whenever a temple was restored and rededicated after the destroyed city was rebuilt.
Composed soon after the events they describe, some are great works of literature. Babylonian laments inspired the biblical Book of Lamentations, just as the Epic of Gilgamesh lies behind the Book of Genesis. Written in Sumerian, they have superb poetic quality: “To overturn the time … the storms gather to strike like a flood: to destroy the city, to destroy the temple…”
These laments came back to me with the dreadful news of the Russian sack of Ukrainian cities. We humans have lived in cities for only five millennia or so, a short time in our story. Their destructions are among the most terrible stories told by humankind: the Iliad with the killing of the men and rape and enslavement of the women of Troy; The Broken Spears, the Aztec lament for the destruction of their capital, Tenochtitlan. In China the sack of Kaifeng in 1127 was the subject of poetry, memoirs and even a great painting showing the lost pleasures of the city’s streets.
In his nostalgic book Dream of Splendour, Meng Yuanlao describes Kaifeng’s vibrant restaurant culture, the street entertainers, and the friendliness of the citizens, “always ready to help neighbours with kind words and a cup of tea”.
And that’s the point. We lament the loss of life, but also all the good things that come with cities, built up over so long and yet smashed overnight by men of war. The barbaric actions of the Russian president Putin are echoed throughout history. As the Roman philosopher Seneca said: “Ask me for an image of civilisation and I’ll show you the sack of a great city.”
In his book The Better Angels of our Nature the cognitive psychologist Steven Pinker recently argued that human destructiveness is on the wane as we become more rational and empathetic social beings. I’m not so sure: after all, it’s in the last four generations that we have seen the most devastating wars in history. Pinker’s argument for me is based more on faith than science. Historians, I think, would say that large-scale organised violence has been with us since the first states in Mesopotamia 5,000 years ago – and in 2022, in Yemen, Myanmar, Ethiopia and Ukraine, it still does its worst.
Watching the catastrophe unfolding in Ukraine, I remember a myth told by the ancient Sumerians. As great myths do, it goes straight to the heart of the matter. Enki, the God of Wisdom, makes a gift to Inanna, Goddess of Uruk, which she will pass on to humankind. The gift is all the attributes of civilisation itself, the things we love about life in cities: the arts of the scribe, the smith, the carpenter and the copper worker, even “the art of being kind”. But he also gives war, violence, the destruction of cities, fear and lamentation. “You must take them all,” Enlil adds. “And once you have taken them, there can be no dispute: you cannot give them back.”
Michael Wood is professor of public history at the University of Manchester. He has presented numerous BBC series, and his latest book is The Story of China (Simon & Schuster, 2021). His Twitter handle is @mayavision