One of the problems of reconstructing written history is that, for the majority of it in the majority of places, more than half the population was intentionally excluded from it, either in real time or retroactively. Despite women’s profound and overrepresentive contribution to the development of literature, little of what they wrote has survived millennia of systematic destruction.
And when it comes to Mesopotamian history, this is particularly tragic. The first named writer in history seems to have been a woman from Mesopotamia, and the Sumerian language even has a dialect specifically for women and goddesses. But at the dawn of the era of literacy, as Sumer’s star began to fade to Akkadian rulership, we see the signs of sexist legislation creeping its way onto the books, and the voice of women starting to vanish shortly thereafter. Much of the rest of the world followed close behind.
I am not the first to wonder if the reason Lamashtu is considered not just a demon, but also a goddess, is that she may have had a very different meaning to women than she did to men. But unfortunately, due to the destruction of women’s writing and worship patterns, this has always been a notoriously difficult thing to prove, in much the same way the persecution of the Gnostics made one of my earlier studies similarly difficult.
To be perfectly clear at the outset: I am absolutely certain that virtually everyone feared Lamashtu. I am certain women feared her even more intensely than men did when they wished to have children. This is in no way a promotion of the white-washing of her destructive associations.
But it is news to no one that women do not always wish to have children, and that they, ultimately, can decide whether they will or not. The practice of women controlling and ending pregnancy reaches so far back into the human way of life that it most likely predates modern homo sapiens entirely.
It is also not news that pagans tend to have a more complex view of divinity than we often find in modern monotheism. Pazuzu, for example, is considered a demon and well-feared, but also was the protector invoked to distract Lamashtu. Gods in nearly every pagan pantheon are shown to be morally ambiguous much of the time, both feared and lauded in various proportions. Demon work isn’t unheard of in Mesopotamian paganism, or in paganism generally.
What of Lamashtu then, in the eyes of women? Obviously we have no record of that, as we don’t most other narratives of divinity that might have conflicted with the powers that be. As I’ve said before, somewhere under a tower is a pile of ash with the answer.
But we do know a few other things.
For starters, we know the story of the Atra-Hasis, in which Lamashtu (here titled as “the exterminator,” or “passitu”) exists for the purpose of keeping the human population restricted, and in balance with nature. Here, she serves a role that, interestingly, reflects the roles of the priestesses of the temple, despite the fact that Lamashtu herself refused to have one. Here, Lamashtu serves a divinely ordained purpose, however much humans may dislike it.
Despite being permissive of infanticide committed by men, we know that the Middle Assyrian empire had extremely draconian laws against women exercising control over their reproduction, including being mutilated to death and then left to rot in the open as a deterrent to others, if found to have induced an abortion.
We know what sorts of offerings were left to appease Lamashtu. One offering that seemed to be left by women particularly often, were centipedes. This a strange addition to the pot, with little explanation in the anthropological record.
But that’s where things get interesting. Another thing we know is that centipede has been used for centuries as an abortifacient in some cultures.
And what is particularly frustrating about the fact that we have so little information about the practices of women in the ancient world, is the way they are portrayed by men. In some ancient near-Eastern stories, Lilith is portrayed as a sort of possessor spirit who overtakes women, and makes them commit acts on her behalf, such as adultery or abortion and infanticide.
But of course, it has always been, and could only ever be, women who arbitrate over the creation and destruction of life. And in this way, we see male-defined spirituality seeking to separate the feminine from its domain by casting it as existing outside the natural function of women.
But what of how it was viewed by women? For the woman “possessed” of Lilith, sexually uncontrollable and representing the reaper, how did she see herself on a spiritual level? Did she connect to Lamashtu or, later, Lilith?
We’ll never know that for sure. But it is interesting to note that one of Lamashtu’s seven names is Victory, heroine among ladies.