Quick and Dirty Guide to Ancient Egyptian Magic

Last week was the last of my Zoom classes on ancient Egypt and Egyptian magic.  Since I justified it as writing research, here's my writer's take-away from the last few weeks.

Ancient Egyptians conceived of a natural force, called heka, which was created by Re before time as a resource for humans to use to ward off bad things.  I suppose in a way it's like static electricity, in that some objects will hold it, and a user of heka can direct it.   To speak a spell is to have heka in one's mouth. Powerful magical items hold and direct lots of heka; some things have more intrinsic heka than others: like the king, graveyards, books, gold, names, precious stones.  

Heka was also used to combat the forces of chaos -- the desert, storms, sickness, dangerous animals, and foreigners --  in order to uphold "maat," or truth and order.  (The imagery of foreigners in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, foot ware,  religious iconography, and in magical texts is the xenophobic elephant in the pyramid of Egyptian studies.)  Heka could form a protective shield encircling the magician, or could in turn encircle and bind the forces of chaos.   

Ancient Egyptian spells involve ritual actions or gestures, special or exotic focus objects, and written or spoken words -- especially names.   So if you're writing a magic scene set in ancient Egypt, your spell-caster is going to be waving around an ankh (at least) while using as many True Names as possible.   Spells to subdue an enemy might involve breaking pots with a person's name written on them, or melting wax images of them.   In some rituals, a magician/priest has the goddess Maat painted with white paint upon his tongue so that his words are true and pure. 

Colors had magical correspondences.  Green was associated with plants, and therefore flourishing growth.  Blue (like lapis) was associated with heavenly powers.  Black was a powerful color (maybe associated with the fertile black soil?).  Red was a color of power, but also chaos, associated with the chaotic god Seth.  Magical scrolls might have magical names or chaotic powers written in red ink (otherwise, they mostly used black).

Scholars like to spend a lot of time writing about the boundaries between ancient Egyptian religion, magic, and medicine.  This is because the boundaries between the three are blurred.   Ancient Egyptian (Early- and Middle-Kingdom, at least) spells tend to begin with a story about the gods as a kind of "this is the way the universe works" starting statement, and then has the spell caster identify with one of the god-protagonists in the story.  Also, magic spells were part of a non-exclusive toolkit -- along with prayers and mundane actions -- for healing or averting ill fortune.

Scholars also like to talk about how ancient Egyptian magic is different from the modern (-ish) western concept of sympathetic magic as put forward by Sir James Frazer.  I'm not sure there are that many differences, since ancient Egyptian magic operates with the Law of the Macrocosm and Microcosm, the Law of True Names, the the Law of Contagion.  On the other hand, I'm not sure how to classify a spell that requires one write write the spell onto one's body and then lick it off for it to work -- consuming or otherwise taking the spell into one's mouth was a way for illiterate folks to activate the potency of a spell.   

Simplifying things greatly, ancient Egyptian magicians came in three flavors:  the king as high-priest of the nation casting spells to uphold order (maat), a scribe-priest associated with a temple's scriptorium (or House of Life) who might cast healing spells or compile magical guidebooks for navigating the afterlife, and common folks who used charms, talismans, and magical gestures during times of crisis (like birth or death) to manipulate health and luck (and hippos and crocodiles) or avert the evil eye. 

Although there was a mention of foreign (Nubian) women and their terrible spells, most magicians in ancient Egypt were male priests working out of a temple.  There might be a sample bias here, as temple priests were more likely to leave a record of spell (or medical triage) books.  Being a priest was a part time  job, and when they were off of temple duty, they were typically doctors or scribes.  As time went on, the priesthood became hereditary.  So if you're going to write an ancient Egyptian magician, they're going to be part of a literate elite, or connected with the royal court.  

Ancient Egyptians made heavy use of amulets, like the ankh (for life); others include the djed pillar (for stability), the shen (for protection), the scarab (for regeneration), and the wedjat eye (for wholeness and protection).  Amulets could be as simple as a knotted thread, or a magical word or symbol written onto a piece of cloth and put into a small bag, or even a tattoo.  

Finally, ancient Egyptian magic was concerned with helping folks attain a good afterlife.  Afterworld spells can be attested throughout the Egyptian kingdoms, starting with the Pyramid Texts (~2353 BCE, and which were reserved for the king),  to the Coffin Texts (~2100 BCE), to the Book of Gates (~1500 BCE) , The Book of Going Forth By Day (~1550 BCE, available to the upper classes), The Book of the Hidden Chamber, The Book of Adoring Re in the West (~1425), and other Netherworld Texts.  These contained spells and rituals a person would need to recite in order to navigate the perils of the netherworld or Duat and unite their ka (or spirit) with their ba (or soul) -- much in the same way Re the sun god was thought to unite with Osiris the mummiform god of the underworld.  The  Book of the Heavenly Cow (~1341) appears to be a collection of stories featuring gods and sorcerers.  

Once we get to around 300 BCE, Egyptian magic starts to look more familiar.  For one thing, it seems to be more about curses and bindings and less about protection, healing, and the afterlife.  The gods become more syncretic.  The spells begin to become more abbreviated and cryptic.  During this time we start to see gods like Abraxius, and magical anagram-like words, like abracadabra make their appearance.  

I suppose if I were going to write about an ancient Egyptian magician, I'd do an alternate history magician.  They would need to be able to read and write.  They'd need to have good observational skills in order to detect and move heka.  They'd need to be versed in the creation myths of their society in order to make use of the Law of Macro-and-Microcosm.  They'd be a boy-scout type concerned keeping the system running orderly.  I'm split on what gender to make them, although writing a non-traditional / non-male would be give them a social hurdle to get over.   Or maybe I'd make them a foreign magician trying to work within their adopted land's system (more opportunities for conflict there) -- maybe they could be a lover or spouse of a native.   I'd probably make my magician a mystery solver -- so I guess a police procedural or Brother Cadfael type of character.   

. . . or . . . 

 maybe I could make them a kind of shabti figure (a kind of Egyptian golem). . . doing work for a magician. . . 

. . . or . . . 

maybe this school-teacher / anthropologist is digging in modern Egypt, and she finds this box from the time of Queen Hatshepsut, and inside the box is an amulet of Isis, and....

Purple Bat'leth

We join the dream in progress. . .

I was Worf from Star Trek: The Next Generation.  The recall is fuzzy, but I was replaying or in a re-boot of the first time Worf meets his mate, K'Ehleyr.  There was a lot of running down stairs, and the Enterprise was more like a dorm or a camping lodge than a star cruiser.  And my bat'leth was bright purple.  

Through dream transitions, I was out of Micheal Dorn's body and in my regular one, setting up chairs on a large, second-story meeting room.  There was a large picture window taking up most of wall on one end.  I think I was sweeping or buffing a hardwood floor, and setting up chairs in front of a speaking area.  The area had the feel of the set-ups I used to do in the 1980's at church.

There was a forty-something priest there; he was the main speaker.  Clean-shaven, curly hair, tall-ish; he wore a black, long-sleeved shirt and priest's collar and dark slacks.  I'm not sure if he was going to give a sermon or just a talk.  I still had my bright purple bat'leth, only in waking life it seems to have become more boomerang like, or even like a purple version of the curved magic wands the ancient Egyptians carved out of hippopotamus tusks.  

He thanked me for helping to set the room up, admired my bat'leth for a moment, and then he looked at me with a priestly, wide-eyed, and earnest gaze and asked, "Why are you here?"

"I've lost my way," I said.  

There may have been more to the dream -- something about a small town in central Oregon called Bear.  I woke up soon after feeling like this was a significant dream.  Of course, it made me introspective, and I've had an early 1990's Styx song, "Show Me The Way," stuck in my head.  

Maybe tonight's lunar eclipse primed me for a significant dream.

I think it's been the early 1990's since I dreamed a Star Trek:TNG dream; usually William Riker featured in them.  I suppose I'll have to dig up old dream journals to confirm.  

Bear, Oregon doesn't exist; but I have a feeling it's somehow related to the dream-North-side-of-Ridgewood-hill, which frequently features bears.  

Based on the bright purple color, I've got a feeling by the end of the dream, the bat'leth was "more than just a cigar" -- but the boomerang aspect and/or Egyptian wand aspect (which is reminiscent of vulvas and has strong associations with birth protection magic) is puzzling. 

The priest seemed to be a generic priest. It's possible he was based on a childhood priest, but the only because he had curly hair.  While I've dreamed I was a priest, I don't usually dream of priests, youngish or otherwise.  

Crows and Hawk

The other day I was in the backyard when I heard the frenzied caws of a murder of crows coming from the street.   I sprinted through the house, grabbed my camera, and stood out on the front porch.  Sure enough, there were eight or so crows, with more winging in from various directions, gathered in the branches of the neighbor's maple tree across the street.   When I looked more closely, I found what I was pretty sure would be there:  a red-tailed hawk.  

Crows will mob a hawk or other raptor, buzzing it while cawing at the top of their lungs.  The hawk typically looks resigned and eventually flies away.  If they wanted to do something about the crows, they could, but I guess it's not worth the trouble.  Crows are interesting, and I'll confess to indulging in the fantasy of making friends with them and having them bring me shiny junk; but it was difficult not to see them as bullying middle-schoolers in that moment. 

I took photos with wild abandon.  There was a frantic moment where I was re-adjusting the ISO to so I could get a quicker shutter speed and then another moment when I was looking for things to lean against to compensate for using high-powered zoom without a tripod.   I got one well-composed shot of both the hawk and a crow.  I tried to repeat the shot by managing to look at the hawk with one eye for a wide-angle view of what was going one and at the scene super-zoomed up on my camera's screen--somehow I did not get sick, but my lucky shot didn't repeat.  

Eventually, I had to go back into the house because Aoife had been left behind in the backyard when I ran off, and, according to Mark, she was going to crash her way through the patio door in a theatrically desperate (and yammeringly operatic) attempt to discover my location and status among the quick or the dead.  

Nefertari in Portland

Over the weekend Mark and I drove up to the Portland Art Museum to see an exhibition of ancient Egyptian artifacts from the time of Queen Nefertari, wife of Rameses II.  The artifacts were (most recently) from the Museum of Turin.

I'd say we've been spoiled by the MET.  I did wish the PAM could have turned up the lights some, although I understand that low lighting is needed for conservation purposes--but it made it difficult to see the minute details on some of the items (and I had to crank up my camera's ISO to the max to get any kind of photo).  I would have had a few of the items pulled away from the walls, turned ninety degrees, or installed in front of a mirror to make it easier to see the back.  I always want translations of what I'm looking at, and if I had been curator I would have had a augmented reality or video display of the artifacts with the hieroglyphs highlighted, along with transliterations and translations (the MET sort of does this sometimes when they shine projections onto the Temple of Dendur).

The artifacts were interesting early Late Kingdom items--but there was nothing of fabulously spectacular craftsmanship fashioned out of gold and inlayed with precious stones.  This wasn't too surprising, as the majority of the objects were every day things from a stonemason's village.  And, to be fair, the show wasn't trying to be a second King Tut exhibit.  There were a number of stelae, pointy-ended jars, little wooden or stone votive statues, and tons of shabti.  The curators did seem awfully fond of a pair of ladies' size nine palm flip-flops.  I'd say my favorite pieces were a bronze cat, an eyeliner case, a carving of the Two Ladies (a cobra and vulture representing Upper and Lower Egypt) with cool detail payed to the two neb baskets, and an early 1900's architectural model of Queen Nefertari's tomb.  

There were only one or two instances of the htp-di-nsw offering formula, so I was challenged to be able to read the writing, but I did on occasion manage to pick out someone's name or phrases like "forever" and "eternity."  To me it seems like New Kingdom era hieroglyphs are the ancient Egyptian equivalent of Helvetica.  It was cool to see some actual papyrus scrolls of The Negative Confession and what I think was Chapter Eleven from the Book of Gates, where Apep the Chaos Serpent is bound--even if they did have a line-drawing feel instead of a luscious carving feel.

I think I'd revisit the exhibit, especially on a weekday when it would be less likely to be crowded.  While I felt like I didn't learn anything new--and Mark said that he thought the exhibit was more of a display of ancient things than a teaching moment--there were enough there that was interesting to warrant a return visit.

Halloween 2021

This year's Halloween was not exactly a fulfillment of all my spooky cross-quarter hopes, dreams, wishes and desires.   There was no costumed ritual with mist and fire; there was no mystic visions or portents from Tarot cards.  There were no masks blurring boundaries between self and not-self.  

Mark and I did hike up to the top of Spencer's Butte with Aoife and had a token snack at the top -- it wasn't a dawn salutation to the sun, and I spilled hot tea on myself -- but the slanting sunlight through the clouds and river fog was picturesque.

Then it was off to Trader Joe's for party supplies.  

I had hauled the decorations from out of the attic about a week before -- this involved a lot of stooping, a head flashlight, and smacking into at least one roof beam.  

I'm thinking we need to re-arrange our front room a bit because right now it's in a COVID configuration that is too cluttered for anything but frat-house decor (this is mostly my fault, as Mark is our resident Marie Kondo) .   I am grateful that the lava lamps are out for a while, and at least this year we got the Trick-o-Treating cats out long enough to enjoy them.  

While shopping, I forgot to get Mark some Toblerone and earned the epitaph of Bad Husband.  To atone, I set out to the local Rite Aide for some Toblerone (and Almond Roca), which almost always involves standing in a line for way longer than one would imagine or wish for.  

We did have a tea party of sorts, but for various reasons -- I prepped the food too late, I was the only one into it, nobody on the very small guest list showed up -- it was particularly anemic.  Mark made some yummy cheese dollars.  I brewed a carafe of tea over a tea candle, and made cucumber savories.   I cut an apple laterally to make slices with stars at their centers.  Then I binged on Almond Roca and poured the extra tea into a thermos to save for later so I wouldn't over-caffeinate on a school-night.   

The little mini-pumpkins we bought this year had thick, hard rinds; this made it hard to carve them --  and while they came out adequately, I ended up with a broken mellon-ball spoon (a useful tool for carving eyes) and sore hands.  Eventually, they were hung on stakes in front of the house.   

The Child opted to spend all of ten seconds carving the pumpkin I'd saved for him by whacking it with a hammer to give it two dented eyes and a crack for a mouth.  

I did manage to carve a pumpkin and managed to get a Witch-King of Agmar vibe from it, so there was that.  And the jack-o-lanterns and candles were quickened with flames ignited by the focused rays of October 31st.

By five o'clock all the candles were lit, all the little treat bags Mark had decorated were ready, and the Trick-or-Treaters had yet to show up.  I figured it was time to thrown on the black and purple cloak, strap on the RollerBlades and wrist-guards, and glide up and down the street a few times.  I surprised one neighbor as I veered around a corner, and after her startled "oh!" we wished each other a Happy Halloween.

Camille Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre played in my head as I swooped around.

It was enough.