[21] The illustration represents the set of Canopic vases dating from
the Thirtieth Dynasty, made for the priest T’et-bast-auf-ānkh, and
found by Prof. Petrie at _Hawara (Hawara, Biahmu, and Arsinoë_, p. 9).
They are now in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.
The lids of such vases represent the four genii of the dead:
Ȧmset, [Illustration: {H}], man-headed;
Dûamûtef, [Illustration: {H}], jackal-headed;
Hāpi, [Illustration: {H}], cynocephalous;
Qebhsenûf, [Illustration: {H}], hawk-headed.
The second immortal part of man was his heart ([Illustration:{H}]
_àb_).[20] The heart was removed from the body by the embalmers,
and the texts give no definite explanation as to what became of it.
During certain periods of Egyptian history, but still comparatively
rarely, it was enclosed, as were the rest of the viscera, in special
alabaster, limestone, or wooden vases, of which four were placed with
the mummy in its grave. These vases are generally but most erroneously
called “Canopic” vases. They usually date from the times of the New
Empire, but we have some few dating from the Ancient Empire. In other
cases the viscera were replaced within the body after its embalmment,
and with them waxen images of the four genii of the dead as their
guardian divinities. But for the most part documents do not afford
us any information as to what was done with the material heart.
Perhaps the priests took measures for its disappearance in order to
furnish some tangible foundation for their doctrine concerning the
heart. Certain statements of Greek writers seem to imply some such
proceeding. According to these authorities the viscera, which must
have included the heart, were cast into the Nile, because they were
designated as the source of all human error. Porphyry gives us even
the form of the prayer which was repeated when the chest containing
the intestines was presented before the Sun; and if the text of this
prayer has not hitherto been confirmed from original documents it is
yet so thoroughly Egyptian in character that its authenticity cannot be
doubted.[22]
But the immortal heart of a man, which stood in a similar relationship
to his material heart as his KA to the whole body, left him at death
and journeyed on alone through the regions of the other world till it
reached the “Abode of Hearts.” Its first meeting with the deceased
to whom it had belonged was in the Hall of Judgment, where it stood
forth as his accuser; for in it all his good and evil thoughts had
found expression during his lifetime. They had not originated there,
for the heart was essentially divine and pure, but it had of necessity
harboured and known them,[23] and therefore it was called upon to
testify concerning the man’s former thoughts and deeds before Osiris,
judge of the dead.
[Illustration: Fig. 6.—A heart scarab.[24]]
In the meantime the mummy was without heart, and had become lifeless
and dead; for to pierce the heart of anything was equivalent to utterly
destroying it. The OSIRIS, too (to which we shall presently return),
would have shared the fate of the mummy had the device not been
conceived of providing the latter with an artificial heart in place of
its own original one, which had returned to the gods. The provisional
heart was represented by an artificial scarabæus, generally made of
hard greenish stone in the image of the beetle, which was a symbol of
genesis and resurrection (fig. 6). Underneath it was made flat, and
inscribed with magic formulæ,[25] that it might be the substitute for
the dead man’s heart, and also ensure his resurrection by virtue of
its form. But when his own heart was restored to him the scarabæus lost
its significance. Like all the rest of the amulets which the Egyptians
gave to their dead, its efficacy only availed for the space of time
intervening between death and the reunion of those elements which death
had separated. When once the resurrection had taken place there was no
further need of amulets, nor any hurt through lack of them.
[Illustration: Fig. 7.—The Ba as a bird.]
Another immortal part of man was the [Illustration: {H}],
[Illustration: {H}], [Illustration: {H}], BA. This conception most
nearly corresponds to our “soul,” for it was a being which, on the
death of the man in whom it had dwelt, left him in order to fly to the
gods, to whom it was closely akin, and with whom it abode when not
united to the man. But, nevertheless, the BA was neither immaterial
nor able to dispense with food and drink.[26] It bore the form of a
human-headed bird (fig. 7), sometimes with hands (figs. 10, 14); or of
a ram-headed scarabæus (fig, 8). From the fifteenth to the eleventh
century B.C. it was preferably represented under the second form which
is really nothing more than its hieroglyphic symbol. The phonetic
value of the ram, [Illustration: {H}], is _ba_, and of the scarabæus,
[Illustration: {H}], _kheper_, which latter means _to be, to become_;
and the composite figure of the ram-headed scarabæus signifies,
therefore, something like “he who has become a soul.”
[Illustration: Fig. 8.—Ram-headed scarabæus.[27]]
[Illustration: Fig. 9.—The Ba visiting the mummy on its funeral couch.
(From “The Book of the Dead,”)]
[Illustration: Fig. 10.—The Ba flying down the shaft of the tomb and
bringing offerings to the mummy.
(From “_The Book of the Dead._”)]
It is otherwise with the first image, which really represents the soul
as it was imagined by the Egyptians. We have sculptured figures and
drawings (fig. 9) showing the little soul perched by the sarcophagus,
touching the mummy, and bidding it farewell before rising to the
gods.[28] In other scenes the soul is depicted as it comes flying from
heaven with the sign of life in its hand, and approaching the grave to
visit the mummy; or as flying down into the vault with the offerings
which it had found at the door of the tomb, bringing bread in one hand
and a jar of water in the other, as food and drink for the body which
once invested it (fig. 10).
This conception of the soul as a kind of bird is noteworthy when
compared with the ideas which other nations have formed of it. The
Greeks sometimes represented the εἴδωλον, or soul, as a small winged
human figure (fig. 11); in Roman times it was imagined as a butterfly
(fig. 12); and in mediæval reliefs and pictures we see it leaving the
mouth of the dead man as a child (fig. 13), or a little naked man.[29]
The latter form recalls that of the Egyptian KA, although the idea
which it embodies reminds one rather of the BA.
[Illustration: Fig. 11.—The placing of the dead in the tomb by
Thanatos (Death) and Hypnos (Sleep). The small winged figure represents
the dead man’s soul. (From a _lekythos_ published by M. C. POTTIER in
his _Étude sur les Lecythes Blancs Attiques_. The εἴδωλον was usually
painted black.)]
[Illustration: Fig. 12.—Scene from a sculptured sarcophagus of the
third century a.d., in the Capitoline Museum, Rome. To the left, below
the chariot of Selene and the draped figure of Night, lies the dead
body of the man, whose soul hovers above him as a butterfly beside the
inverted torch of the pensive winged boy representing either Sleep or
Death. Fate sits with open scroll at the dead man’s head, and above
her his soul is again represented as a Psyche, carried away by Hermes.
(See BOTTARI, _Musée Capitoline_, vol. iv., pl. xxv. Cf. also many
representations of Amor and Psyche in ancient art, showing Psyche—the
soul—sometimes as a winged figure and sometimes as a butterfly.)]
[Illustration: Fig. 13.—The soul of a man leaving him at his death in
the form of a naked child, and received by an angel. (_From the porch
of the cathedral church of St. Trophimus, at Arles._)]
The [Illustration: {H}], SĀHÛ, also was considered as immortal. This
is invariably depicted as a swathed mummy, and represented the form
which the man wore upon earth. Originally it was related to the KA, but
whereas the latter was a complete Personality, the SĀHÛ was nothing
but a hull,—a form without contents. Yet this also was of the gods
and imperishable, returning to its heavenly home when death had set it
free. Since the body, or KHA[30] had also the same form, it naturally
came about that when the mummy was mentioned in religious texts as
reanimated by the KA it was frequently confounded with the SĀHÛ. In
this sense it is said that “the SĀHÛ lives in the Sarcophagus (or in
the underworld), it grows (_rûd_), it renews itself (_renp_).”[31] But
in more precise texts the two things are kept distinct, as, _e.g._,
“the BA (soul) sees its KHA, it rests upon its SĀHÛ.”[32] At such times
the BA had power over the SĀHÛ, and, as is said on the Sarcophagus of
Panehemisis, “the SĀHÛ lives at the command of the BA.”[33]
In close connection with the Sāhû was the [Illustration: {H}], KHAÏB,
the shadow, represented as a fan, or sunshade (fig. 14), in scenes
professing to portray the next world.[34]
As all earthly forms must needs have their shadows, such was also
the case with things in the world to come; there, too, the sun
shone and all the optical phenomena of earth were repeated. But,
not content to accept this as a simple fact, the Egyptians ascribed
separate existences both to the shadows of the dead and to those of
gods and genii. According to Egyptian belief a shadow might live on
independently, apart from its owner, and this was exactly what it was
supposed to do at the moment when death had taken place; then the KHAÏB
went forth alone to appear in the realm of the gods. This Ancient
Egyptian idea of the independent existence of a man’s shadow recalls to
our minds Chamisso’s story of Peter Schlemihl, published in 1823.[35]
[Illustration: Fig. 14.—BA and KHAÏB. (From “_The Book of the Dead._”)]
The KA, the ÅB, the BA, the SĀHÛ, and the KHAÏB constituted the
chief elements of that which was immortal in man, but others were
also occasionally included, especially one which was called the Khû,
[Illustration: {H}], i.e. the Luminous.[36] To these, however, there
is less frequent reference; they were of importance in local cults
only, and were either included among the parts already mentioned or
were so vaguely defined that they may be safely left out of account in
treating of the soul as conceived by the Egyptians without danger of
our conception being falsified by the omission.
* * * * *
When the immortal was thus resolved into its component parts at death,
what then became of the human individuality which had resulted from
their combined action, and how could its different parts find each
other again in the next world, in order to form the new man of the
resurrection? The Egyptians had evolved a very simple solution of this
problem, although one which, according to our mode of thought, stands
in direct contradiction to their doctrine of the soul. It was assumed
that in addition to his immortal elements the man as a person of a
particular appearance and character was also endowed with a kind of
deathlessness, which seems to have held good only for a time, and not
for ever. To this conception of a dead man, in whom soul and life were
lacking but who in the interim still possessed existence, feeling, and
thought, the Egyptians gave the name of OSIRIS.
Osiris was the first divine King of Egypt who reigned in true human
likeness; he civilised the Egyptians, instructed them in agriculture,
gave them laws, and taught them true religion. After a long and blessed
reign he fell a prey to the machinations of his brother Set (Typhon),
and having been slain was constrained to descend into the underworld,
where he evermore lived and reigned as judge and king of the dead. His
fate of death was the fate of all men. Every one, when his earthly
pilgrimage was ended, must descend into the underworld by the gates of
death; but each man hoped to rise again, even as Osiris had risen, to
lead henceforth the life of the blessed. In this hope men called their
dead OSIRIS, just as Germans speak of their dead as “blessed,”—hoping
that blessedness may indeed be their lot. Death had not changed Osiris;
as he had been king on earth, so he was king in the world beyond death.
In the same way man, too, remained that which he had been here; death
merely made a break in his life, without altering any of his conditions
of existence.
[Illustration: Fig. 15.—Hypocephalus, from a drawing by Dr. W. H,
Rylands.]
The relation subsisting between a man’s OSIRIS and his mummy was not
clearly apprehended, even by the Egyptians themselves. Identical they
were not—that fact is obviously implied by the texts, which never
once substitute the mummy for the Osiris; men knew also from experience
that no mummy had ever left its place of embalmment, or the tomb, to
journey on into the next world. Yet mummy and OSIRIS were nevertheless
not entirely different and distinct; both had the same appearance
and the same character. Moreover, the texts describe the OSIRIS as
resembling the mummy in appearance while really differing from it, and
the embalmers equipped the mummy as though it were called upon to
journey forth as the OSIRIS. The inherent contradiction in all this
arose principally from the fact that the Egyptian hoped and believed
that shortly after death he would arise again, complete in flesh and
blood as he had lived upon earth; whereas experience contradicted his
creed, for it showed him that the mummy never did and never could
leave the earth. He extricated himself from the dilemma by providing
the mummy with a _Doppelgänger_: its own perfect counterpart, yet not
itself. When once we have familiarised ourselves with this singular
idea we find in it a simple key to all the riddles of the OSIRIS.
The mummy was provided with an artificial heart in the shape of a
scarabæus,[37] because the Osiris could not live without one, and
also with various amulets, by virtue of every one of which demons of
the next world could be overcome. A stuccoed disc of papyrus, linen,
or bronze, which, by the figures and formulæ inscribed upon it, had
mystic power to preserve the needful warmth of life to the Osiris (fig.
15), was placed under the head of the mummy.[38] The soles of the
feet which had trodden the mire of earth were removed in order that
the OSIRIS might tread the Hall of Judgment with pure feet; and the
gods were prayed to grant milk to the Osiris that he might bathe his
feet in it and so assuage the pain which the removal of the soles must
needs have caused him. And, finally, the soles which had been excised
were placed within the mummy in order that the OSIRIS might find them
to hand for the completion of his Personality.[39] That nothing might
be wanting to this Personality, the gods were besought that the mummy
should not suffer earthly corruption, and it was held to be of supreme
importance that flesh and bones, muscles and limbs should all remain
in place. With the mummy were also placed _The Book of the Dead_, as
well as other religious and mystic texts needed by the OSIRIS for
his guidance through the regions beyond the grave, and from which he
might learn the prayers which had to be spoken in due order and place
according to strict prescriptions. In short, the mummy was treated
precisely as though it were an OSIRIS. But the difference was great:
the mummy remained within the sarcophagus in the sepulchral chamber,
while the OSIRIS proceeded on his way.
The journey of the OSIRIS, treated at wearisome length, forms the
favourite subject of Egyptian texts, and to this is devoted the largest
and best known work in the religious literature of the nation: the
compilation called by us _The Book of the Dead_. This book contains
no systematic account of the journey, such as the analogy of similar
literatures might lead us to expect, but exhibits it in a series
of disconnected stages by giving the prayers which the OSIRIS must
repeat when passing through different parts of the underworld, or
on encountering certain genii there. A chapter is devoted to each
prayer, but the chapters do not follow each other in the order in
which the prayers were to be used. The Egyptians never attained to
any clear idea of the Osirian underworld; the same confusion and
obscurity reigned over it as over their whole conception of the unseen
world and of deity. They pondered deeply over a series of separate
problems without being able to unite the results into one consistent
whole, which should command acceptance, or to form any definite and
permanent topography of the regions beyond the tomb. Hence there is
no fixed sequence for the chapters of _The Book of the Dead_; the
order varies materially in the different manuscripts to which we are
indebted for our knowledge of the work. The number of chapters in the
different copies also varies; while in some it is small, in others,
as in the Ptolemaic copy for a certain Aûfānkh, published by Lepsius,
it reaches to one hundred and sixty-five. Since there was no fixed
rule as to order or number, priest or scribe might make a selection of
such chapters as he or the family of the deceased held to be the most
essential, and each was at liberty to form for himself a more or less
modified conception of the characteristics of the underworld.
We cannot here follow the OSIRIS through all the details of his
journey, but must be content to know that according to the account
in _The Book of the Dead_ he issued victorious from all his trials,
overcame all enemies whom he encountered, and was ushered at length
into the Hall of the Double Truth, and received by the goddess of
Truth. Here also he found the chief gods of the Osirian cycle gathered
together, and the forty-two assessors of Divine Justice near the
canopy under which the god Osiris was enthroned. Then the deceased
spoke, and proceeded to recite the “Negative Confession”—a denial of
sins of commission—declaring that he had not been guilty of certain
definite sins, and denying one or another particular form of guilt
to each of the assessors. He had not done evil, had not robbed, nor
murdered, nor lied, not caused any to weep, not injured the property of
the gods, and so on.[40] The judges heard all in silence, giving no
sign either of approval or disapproval; but when the confession was
ended the heart of the deceased was brought forward and laid in the
scales against the image or symbol of Truth. The weighing was
superintended by the gods Anubis and Horus, while Thot, the scribe of
the gods, stood by ready to record the result (fig. 16).[41]
[Illustration: Fig. 16.—The weighing of the dead man’s heart against
the feather symbolic of Maāt, the goddess of Truth. (_From “The Book of
the Dead”_)]
This was the time for the deceased anxiously to call upon his heart in
the prescribed formula from _The Book of the Dead_,[42] not to bear
witness against him, for “the heart of a man is his own god,”[43] and
must now determine his everlasting fate. If his heart were content with
him, and the scales turned in his favour, then the god Thot commanded
that his heart should be restored to him to be set again in its place.
This was done, and forthwith the immortal elements which death had
separated began to reunite. His KA, and all the remaining parts of
himself, were now restored to the justified OSIRIS, who was thus built
up into the complete man who had once walked the earth, and who now
entered upon a new life, the everlasting life of the righteous and the
blessed. He was joyfully admitted by the gods into their circle, and
was henceforth as one of them.
_The Book of the Dead_ and cognate religious texts, always assume that
judgment goes in favour of the deceased, that his heart approves him,
and that he becomes one of the blessed. Nowhere are we clearly informed
as to the fate of the condemned who could not stand before the god
Osiris. We are told that the enemies of the gods perish, that they are
destroyed or overthrown; but such vague expressions afford no certainty
as to how far the Egyptians in general believed in the existence of a
hell as a place of punishment or purification for the wicked;[44] or
whether, as seems more probable, they held some general belief that
when judgment was pronounced against a man his heart and other immortal
parts were not restored to him. For such a man no re-edification and no
resurrection was possible. The immortal elements were divine, and by
nature pure and imperishable; but they could be preserved from
entering the OSIRIS, from re-entering the hull of the man who had
proved himself unworthy of them. The soul, indeed, as such did not die,
although personal annihilation was the lot of the evil-doer in whom it
had dwelt. But it was the hope of continued individuality which their
doctrine held out to the Egyptians; this it was which they promised to
the good and in all probability denied to the wicked.
[Illustration: Fig. 17.—The Blessed Dead ploughing and sowing by the
waters of the celestial Nile. (_From “The Book of the Dead.”_)]
[Illustration: Fig. 18.—The blessed Dead reaping and treading out the
corn in the fields of Aalû. (_From “The Book of the Dead.”_)]
After judgment the righteous entered into blessedness, unchanged
in appearance as in nature; the only difference being that, while
the existence which they had led upon earth had been limited in its
duration, the life of the world to come was eternal. But the future
blessedness for which the Egyptian hoped was far from being a passive
state of bliss such as is promised by most of the higher religions,
an absorption into the All or into the Godhead, a dreamy state of
floating in everlasting repose, content, and unimpassioned joy. The
average Egyptian expected to lead as active a life in the world to
come as he had led here. Although with the Godhead, he counted on
retaining his independent individuality in all respects and on working
and enjoying himself even as he had done on earth. He expected his
chief employment to be agriculture, the occupation which must have
seemed most natural to a people almost entirely dependent upon the
produce of the fields. A vignette belonging to chap. cx. of _The Book
of the Dead_ represents the dead at work in the fields of the
Blessed,[45] ploughing with oxen, casting the seed-corn into the
furrows (fig. 17), cutting the ripe ears with sickles, driving oxen to
tread out the grain from the straw (fig. 18), and finally piling up the
corn in heaps against it was required to serve for the making of bread.
For change and recreation they sailed upon the canals of the next world
in their boats (fig. 19), played at draughts with their own souls, or
made offerings to the gods, especially to the celestial Nile, which
gave water to their fields and fertility to their seed (fig. 20). All
went on exactly as here, excepting that the work of the blessed was
invariably crowned with success. The Nile always overflowed the fields
to best advantage, the corn grew five ells high and its ears were
two ells long, the harvest never failed to be abundant, the weather
was always favourable, the fresh and pleasant north wind was always
blowing, the foe was always conquered, and the gods graciously accepted
all offerings and requited the givers with rich gifts of all kinds. In
short, the life of the dead in the kingdom of the gods was an idealised
earthly life, although not always a very moral life according to our
standards.
[Illustration: Fig. 19.—One of the Osirian dead sailing in his papyrus
bark along the heavenly canals. (_From “The Book of the Dead.”_)]
[Illustration: Fig. 20.—-The Blessed Dead making offerings to the
celestial Nile-god. (_From “The Book of the Dead.”_)]
But this belief in the life of the next world as the exact counterpart
of this implied a danger which involved the Egyptian in heavy cares.
The dead lived, therefore they must of necessity eat and drink, for
without these processes the continuation of life was inconceivable;
if the dead were without food they would be starved. The inscription
of the sepulchral pyramid of Ûnas, an Egyptian king of the Fifth
Dynasty, gives expression to this fear. “Evil is it for Ûnas,” says
that text, “to be hungry and have nothing to eat; evil is it for Ûnas
to be thirsty and have nothing to drink.” The necessities of life
were, indeed, partly ensured to the dead by means of the offerings
made to them by their sur-vivors on recurrent feast-days, and partly
mysteriously created for their use in the next world by the repetition
of magic formulæ in this.[46] But if the offerings ceased, or if no one
took the trouble to repeat the formulæ, the dead were left to their own
resources, and must work, and till the land, and earn their own living.
[Illustration: Fig. 21.—Ancient kingdom KA-statues of servants−potters
and bread-makers. (_Originals in the Ghizeh Museum_.)]
Such enforced labour could hardly have appeared very attractive to
Egyptians of the upper classes, and so an expedient suggested by the
conditions of their earthly life was devised for evading it on their
behalf. The rich man who had servants to work for him in this world was
desirous of securing like service for himself in the world to come. In
the time of the Ancient Empire it seems to have been taken for granted
that those who were servants in this life would be servants also in
the life beyond. With this selfish end in view the rich of those times
had placed within their own sepulchral chambers KA-statues of their
servants in order to ensure immortal life to them also (fig. 21). As
the old Germans were followed into the next world by their slaves and
horses; as other uncivilised nations sent the servants of the dead to
the realm of death after their masters,[47] so in Ancient Egypt a
certain portion of mankind was set apart to serve the rest through all
eternity. But as Egyptian civilisation advanced and a more humane state
of feeling dawned, these views were modified, and the thought gained
ground that all Egyptians were equal in the presence of death and of
the gods. So the rich man was obliged to renounce his hope of finding
his servants again at his service beyond the tomb, and was face to face
with the old fear of being reduced to heavy toil through the possible
negligence of his successors.
A most singular expedient was adopted to avert this danger: little
images of clay, or wood, or stone, or even of bronze, were made in
human likeness, inscribed with a certain formula,[48] and placed
within the tomb, in the hope that they would there attain to life and
become the useful servants of the blessed dead; they are the so-called
ÛSHABTIÛ (or Respondents), of which hundreds and thousands of specimens
may be found in collections of Egyptian antiquities (see
Frontispiece[49]). These “servants for the underworld,” or “servants
to the OSIRIS,” as the texts call them, owed their very being and life
to the dead, and stood to him in the same relation as man to God. And
as men seek to testify their gratitude to the Creator by doing Him
service, so it was hoped that these little figures would show their
thankfulness by their diligence, and spare their master and maker all
toil.
Many other customs arose out of similar ideas to those which gave rise
to the institution of ÛSHABTIÛ. Articles of personal adornment and for
toilet use, wreaths, weapons, carriages, playthings, and tools were
given to the dead, and a whole set of household furniture was often
laid away in the grave in order that the OSIRIS should not be obliged
to set to work at once to make or collect these things for himself on
his entrance into the next world; for this purpose choice was often
made of such objects as the man had used and valued in his lifetime.
All this care, however, was bestowed not simply in the interest of
those who had entered upon the life everlasting but also in that of
those who were left behind. Among other powers possessed by the dead
was that of going to and fro upon earth; and, to prevent their exercise
of it, all things whose lack might impel them to revisit the scenes
of their earthly lives were placed within the tombs, for their visits
might not be altogether pleasant for survivors withholding any part of
the goods which belonged to the dead. But these facts must not lead
us to conclude that the tomb was the permanent dwelling of the dead,
and that the objects placed within it were really intended for his use
there, and for all time.
As the amulets laid in and about the mummy were for the use of the
OSIRIS, so the furniture and implements placed near the coffin were
intended not so much for the mummy lying in its tomb as for the
Osiris dwelling with the gods. Each of these objects had its heavenly
counterpart, even as the mummy was represented by the OSIRIS.[50]
It was thus that the Egyptians sought to make themselves homes in the
next world, and to secure all the comforts and pleasures of their
earthly life in the life which was to come. Nevertheless, the pious
Egyptian did not expect to remain for ever as an Osiris, or as a god
in human likeness: he rather hoped for ever-increasing freedom, for
the power of taking other shapes and transforming himself at will into
quadrupeds; or into birds—such as the swallow or the heron; or into
plants—more especially the lotus; or even into gods.[51]
This is no doctrine of compulsory transmigration such as used to be
freely ascribed to the Egyptians on the strength of the statements made
by Herodotus[52]; there is no question here of souls being forced to
assume fresh forms in which their purification is gradually worked out
and their perfection achieved. To the Egyptian transmigration was not
the doom of imperfect souls, but a privilege reserved for such as had
already attained perfection. Again and again the texts assert that the
blessed may assume any form and visit any place at will; body and place
can no longer enthral him. He may travel round the heavens with the
Sun-god Rā, or arise from the shades with Osiris in the “divine night”
of the 26th of the month Khoiak (_i.e._ at the winter solstice); he is
even as a god, nay, he is himself a god, able to live in and by Truth,
actually taking it, indeed, as food and drink.
The power of the soul to incarnate itself at pleasure became one of the
chief reasons for embalming the body. As we have seen, the preservation
of the body was held to be necessary because the mummy was supposed
to be the material form of which the Osiris was the essential reality.
But this temporary need might have been met in simpler fashion, since
the journey of the Soul to the Hall of Judgment was accomplished in a
comparatively short time. There was, however, a further need for which
provision had to be made. The soul might sometimes visit the mummy,
again take up its abode in its former body, and, animating it anew,
return to earth under that form and thus revisit the spots where once
it had dwelt. To this end it required an earthly and tangible body, and
this was supplied by the mummy. If the mummy were destroyed, then the
soul not only lost one of the forms in which it might incarnate itself,
but that one with which its interests were naturally most closely
connected—that one which linked it to earth and best enabled it to
exhort the survivors to remember the funerary offerings, and to see
how it fared with those whom it had been obliged to leave behind. The
destruction of the mummy did not involve the destruction of the soul,
but it narrowed the soul’s circle of activity and limited its means of
transmigration.
This doctrine gave rise to the necromantic theory that a soul might be
compelled by means of magic formulæ to re-enter its body, and to speak
through the dead lips. The magician who had brought this about could
then stipulate for all kinds of favours before restoring the soul to
freedom. It is true that such an attempt was reckoned highly dangerous;
and, according to a tale dating from Ptolemaic times, a royal prince
named Setna,[53] who had succeeded in the undertaking, paid heavily for
having sought to make the spirits of the dead subject to him, when,
through his own imprudence, he was overpowered by those whom he had
invoked.
* * * * *
The above sketch of the eschatology of the Ancient Egyptians is drawn
from their own religious texts. As to the origin of that system and
the transformations which it had undergone before reaching the form
under which it is known to us we are as yet entirely ignorant; but it
is obvious that it must have developed gradually and assimilated many
originally heterogeneous doctrines. For instance, the Ka and the Osiris
must surely once have had the same significance, and not have been
considered as two different factors of the dead man’s being until
time had brought about the fusion of two theological systems—in one
of which the KA was regarded as the spiritual _Doppelgänger_, or
Double, while in the other it was named the OSIRIS. All attempts at
solving these and similar problems connected with this subject are,
as yet, mere hypotheses. As far back as Egyptian history has been
traced the people appear to have been in possession not only of written
characters, national art and institutions, but also of a complete
system of religion. As in all other departments of Egyptian life and
thought, so with the Egyptian religion—we cannot trace its beginnings.
In the earliest glimpse of it afforded by the Egyptian texts it appears
as perfect in all its essential parts; nor were after-times able to
effect much change in it by the addition of new features. What greatly
intensifies the deep historical interest of Egyptian eschatology is
that it testifies not only to the fact that a whole nation believed in
the immortality of the soul four thousand years before the birth of
Christ, but also that this nation had even then succeeded in clearly
picturing the future life to themselves after a fashion which may
indeed often seem strange and incomprehensible to modern minds but
to which we cannot deny a certain consistency and a deep spiritual
connotation.
We shall not here discuss the many analogies subsisting between
Egyptian belief and the religious systems of other nations and times,
nor yet its great differences from them; and it is for the sciences of
anthropology and comparative religion to determine to what extent the
Egyptian doctrine of immortality originated in Egypt itself, and how
much was brought there by the Egyptians from the common home which they
had shared with the Semites and Indo-europeans.