Myths & Legends of Babylonia & Assyria — Themes and Context

The Sun-God as Judge and Warrior

Spence devotes considerable attention to Shamash, the sun-god, emphasizing his role as a divine judge. He observes that no favours could be obtained from Shamash by prayer or sacrifice unless the supplicant could claim righteousness. This is not a generic trait; Spence supports it with specific references to Tiglath-pileser I, who recognized Shamash as his judge and destroyed enemies not because they fought against him, but because of their wickedness. The language of the inscriptions, Spence argues, frames military conquest as moral correction.

He further notes that Tiglath performed acts of clemency 'before the face of Shamash,' ensuring the god witnessed his justice. Spence suggests that Tiglath acted as Shamash's viceroy on earth, a relationship that elevated the king's authority. The sun-cult was later exalted by Assur-nazir-pal and Shalmaneser II, and Spence tentatively links its popularity to Egyptian influence, specifically the cult of Ra. He is careful to qualify this: 'It must always be extremely difficult to trace such resemblances at an epoch so distant as that of the ninth century B.C.'

Sin in the Northern Land: A Lunar War-God

Spence's treatment of Sin, the moon-god, highlights how Assyrian religion transformed borrowed deities. Unlike in Babylonia, where Sin carried astrological significance, in Assyria he was stripped of such associations and recast as a war-god. Spence finds this remarkable: 'So far as is known, no lunar deity in any other pantheon possesses a military significance.' He speculates that the Assyrians turned practically all borrowed gods into war-gods, a pattern that reveals their militaristic culture.

Yet Sin retained some of his Babylonian attributes. Assur-bani-pal calls him 'the first-born son of Bel,' echoing Babylonian texts. Spence uses this to argue for direct Babylonian origin. He also notes that Sin was regarded as a god of wisdom and a framer of decisions, equating him with the Egyptian Thoth. The evidence is drawn from royal inscriptions and temple foundations: Assur-nazir-pal built a temple to Sin in Calah, and Sargon raised sanctuaries beyond the Assyrian frontier. Spence does not overreach; he admits uncertainty about why Sin became a war-god, leaving the question open.

Nusku of the Brilliant Sceptre

Nusku, a lesser-known deity, receives a focused analysis. Spence notes that although Nusku was Babylonian in origin, it is only in Assyrian times that definite information emerges. The symbols for his name—a sceptre and a stylus—associate him with Nabu, but Spence resists conflating them. He argues that Nusku is a solar deity, while Nabu appears to have been a water-god. To support this, he cites Shalmaneser I's epithet 'The Bearer of the Brilliant Sceptre.'

Spence acknowledges exceptions: some deities exhibit both solar and aqueous characteristics, as among the Maya. He draws a parallel to Kukulcan, but does not press the analogy too far. The section exemplifies Spence's method: he weighs evidence, notes ambiguities, and avoids dogmatic conclusions. His diction is precise—'it is difficult, however, to believe that the two are one'—and he grounds every claim in textual or archaeological data.

The Alloy of Romance and Research

Spence's preface explicitly states his goal: to present Babylonian romance 'freed from the darker ore of antiquarian research.' Yet he concedes that pure gold is 'notoriously unserviceable' and requires an alloy. This metallurgical metaphor governs his approach. He does not merely narrate myths; he contextualizes them within the history of archaeological discovery. He references the works of Rawlinson, Smith, Layard, and Sayce, but criticizes their 'lengthy disquisitions' as tedious for general readers.

His solution is to interweave romance with knowledge. For example, when discussing the sun-cult, he moves from the abstract concept of divine justice to the specific actions of Tiglath-pileser I. The result is a text that shifts between narrative and analysis. Spence is aware of his audience: 'it is anticipated that it will be to the modern reader who loves the romance of antiquity that this book will especially appeal.' He positions himself as a mediator between scholarship and popular taste, a role that shapes his diction and structure.

Spence's work is best approached as a document of its time—a 1916 attempt to popularize Assyro-Babylonian mythology without sacrificing scholarly rigor. Readers should note his reliance on then-current archaeology and his tendency to compare deities across pantheons. The book rewards those who attend to his word choices and the evidence he cites from royal inscriptions. It is not a primary source but a synthesis, and its value lies in observing how one Edwardian scholar balanced romance and research.

There’s something touching about Spence reaching for the old gods—Shamash’s warmth, Sin’s silver—while knowing the stones can only whisper back. That same longing to bridge what we feel and what we’ll never fully know lingers in Zoological Mythology; or, The Legends of Animals, Volume 2 (of 2) — Themes and Context, where animal tales carry their own half-buried truths. I keep thinking how gentle that ache is.