In ancient times, the money-lender was the banker, and lending money was foremost in Babylonian professions. Even members of the royal families were themselves heavy loaners and drew high rates of interest, although, to be sure, their business transactions were carried on by agents.
The rate of interest varied greatly, being generally higher in Assyria. In Babylonia it might be 20%, or again 16%, and was rarely as low as 10%. Cases are on record in Assyria where 25% and 331⁄3% were exacted. As is still customary in the East, interest was computed monthly, and unless the borrower was well known and trusted, it was paid monthly. Security for the full amount was always required.
A great firm of Babylon held a position in that country corresponding to that held by the Rothschilds in England, loaning to the state as well as to private individuals. Personal deeds and documents belonging to citizens were stored in the well-protected chambers of this firm as they are today kept in safety boxes in bank vaults. Banking firms continued for generations, and immense numbers of wills, deeds of sale, business contracts, leases, tax certificates, loans and marriage agreements accumulated within their chambers.
Scribes.
While each one pleaded his own case ordinarily, in the courts of Babylonia, pleas were frequently thrown into form beforehand by a scribe. These scribes performed duties discharged in later times by attorneys at law, as well as those which would of necessity fall to their share. In Babylonia they acted as librarians, authors and publishers, multiplying copies of books and selling them. In Assyria, where the art of reading and writing was not so generally known, they acted as private clerks and secretaries to a wide extent.
Medicine.
We have noted early in our study that medicine had but a small part in Babylonian life. Charms, magic and incantations in a large measure took its place. However, with acquaintance with Egypt, came an impulse to learn of a science which occupied a more important position in the valley of the Nile. While physicians came into prominence in later years, they were never wholly depended upon. The doctor was called to act in unison with the magician and conjurer unless, as was often the case, he himself united the two arts of healing. Herodotus and other travellers have testified to cases similar to the following: "Pressing forward and peeping over the heads of the people, we see a man stretched upon a mattress, and apparently just about to die. A few weeping friends kneel at his side, and we learn that he has been brought from his home, and laid down in the public market place, in the vain hope that some one may propose a remedy which will save his life. This custom, so strange to us, is common in Babylon, they say. When all else has failed, when doctors and sorcerers have done their best, the sick person is transported to the open square, and advice is asked from the crowd which is sure to gather.
"Today, as ever, each has a different remedy to propose, though all are agreed as to the cause of illness. A demon possesses the man, of that there is no question. 'Come away, little one!' cries an old woman, drawing back her grandson. 'Go not too near, lest the evil spirit leave the man, and seize upon thee. Often have I seen it. Bel be praised that I have his image!' And she draws forth a little clay image of Bel, and hangs it carefully on the neck of her grandson. 'Hast thou tried the wool of a young sheep?' asks a woman of the sick man's wife. 'Let a sorcerer tie seven knots in it, on seven moonlight nights. Tie the strands around thy husband's neck, around his limbs, around his head. So shall his soul not leave his body.'
"'Try the recipe of Asshurbanipal the Assyrian,' cries another. 'It is well known and never fails. Six different kinds of wood, a bit of snake skin, some wine, and a piece of ox flesh. Make a paste, and cause the sick man to swallow it.'[3]
"A man hurries up with a handful of clay, and molds a little figure which he displays as the image of the sick man. We cannot see the resemblance, but the crowd presses forward and watches his motions with eager curiosity. He calls for a cup of wine, pours part of it over the image, and after drinking the rest, mutters an incantation. All in vain, while he is yet speaking, the family of the sick man raises a chorus of wails, in which the crowd joins. The man is dead; no charm can avail him more."[4]