Tags: the
weighing of the heart in the Book of the Dead;psychostasy; life review; Édouard Naville (The
old Egyptian faith, 1909); Papyrus of Ani; ancient Egyptian
religion
The weighing of the heart in the Book of the Dead,
according to Édouard Naville(1905)
As explained in an earlier
entry,
on Saturday, I had been thinking of returning a book to Lausanne’s
university library. However, before doing so, I thought that I would
quickly go through the excerpts of the articles collected in this
anthology of French texts having to do with ancient Egypt and published
originally for their most part in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
On going through the book starting from the end to the middle sections, I
came across the following passage taken from a series of lectures given by
the Swiss scholar of religions and archaeologist Édouard Naville
(1844-1926) in 1905 at the Collège de France and translated into English
in 1909 by a Scottish clergyman, Colin Campbell. As the subject of psychostasy (weighing of the soul in
Greek) is of great interest to me and also because of a previous entry I
wrote on a related subject (‘Herodotus
on the Egyptian belief of transmigration’), even though I am no
expert on this topic (thereby conveniently allowing me not
to have to provide footnotes on the various place names and deities
mentioned in Mr Naville’s text), I decided to publish the English
translation of Édouard Naville’s description of how the ancient Egyptians
believed a soul would be judged by the gods, as described in various
versions of the Book of the Dead.
For a very short list of links about
psychostasy and the works of my fellow Genevese compatriot Édouard
Naville, please take a look at the bottom of this page. In addition, a
photograph of a pictorial representation of the weighing of the heart from
an ancient Egyptian papyrus is available here, as a frontispiece to the English translation of Naville’s
work, under the caption of ‘The Forty-two Gods, who avenge the
Forty-two Trespasses, adored by the Deceased [...]’.
The photograph was taken by Colin
Campbell himself. Another pictorial representation of the weighing of the
heart from an Egyptian papyrus of the Theban Book of the Dead
(the famous Papyrus of Ani) kept at the British Museum and reproduced in
full colour is available here. (Should this page have moved by the time you were to
read the following, then go here.)
[Here begins the
translation provided by Colin Campbell on pages 184
to 193
of The old Egyptian faith; as
usual, words, fragments of sentences or full sentences in green indicate
emphasis purely of my responsibility.]
[…] Yet
undoubtedly it is Heliopolis that is the reputed scene of what I consider
to be the heart of the Book of the Dead, the Judgment. This part is also
the most interesting of all, because it is
almost the only one in which a moral element appears. Up to this
point, as we have seen, the gods are deities more or less cosmic; they are
divinities whose nature-character is strongly marked, and whose relations
with man are precisely the same as those which he holds with natural
phenomena. Consequently, the conception of
good and evil, and everything connected with conscience, are entirely
absent. How comes it, then, that, side by side with such strongly
accented pantheistic tendencies, we have a moral code as well, which for
loftiness may well be placed beside others which claim our admiration? We
are here in presence of a contradiction which is not peculiar to Egypt— a
something inherent in the nature of man— namely, conscience,
which always appears again and again,
and always will assert itself as the standard
of right and wrong. As Osiris stood for the primeval man, he
could not be a stranger to those feelings which govern man in relation to
his conduct: it is man himself who must be his own judge.
The
scene of the Judgment occupies chapter cxxv. of the book. One of the
longest, it is also one of the commonest. Indeed, it of all others had the
greatest value for the deceased, and summed up the whole book for him.
Frequently it follows chapter i., but it is found more often near the end
of the book. It consists of three parts, with an introduction bearing
different titles, one of which is: “Words said when one approaches the
Hall of the Two Truths, or the Two Justices, to
the end that one may be delivered from his sins and see the faces
of the gods.” It is curious that Truth,
or, as Renouf renders it, Justice, should be represented by two goddesses,
absolutely alike; and one of the texts informs us that one of them is at
the East and the other at the West. They keep guard, therefore, over the
two extremities of the Hall or Seat of Osiris. We have here a singular mingling of cosmic or nature ideas relative
to the course of the Sun, with a scene
which is altogether human in its character,
and implies, above all, an order of ideas entirely apart from nature. The
dead man draws near with his wife; the two have their hands raised in
adoration; before entering, he makes his addresses to Osiris, who is in
his hall or pavilion, and he says: “Hail to thee, mighty God, Lord of
Justice. I come to thee, my Lord, to behold thy beauties; I know thee, I
know the name of the two-and-forty gods who are with thee, who devour
those who meditate evil, who drink their
blood the day when a man gives account of himself before Unnofer.
Truly thy name is: He whose two eyes are those of Justice. Behold me, I
have come to thee, I bring the truth
to thee, and I will put aside all lying.”
Then he begins a confession which he
repeats later when he enters the Hall: “I have
not done evil to any man; I
am not one of those who put to death his
kindred; I am not one who telleth lies in place of truth. ... I am
not a doer of that which the gods abhor;
I have not done wrong to a servant in the
eyes of his master; I have not
caused famine; I have not caused
weeping; I am not a murderer;
I have not given commands for murder;
I have not caused men to suffer; I
have not diminished the temple offerings; I have not lessened the bread
given to the gods; I have not robbed the dead of their funeral offerings;
I am not an adulterer; I have not
diminished the grain measure; I have
not shortened the palm’s length .... I have not
pressed
down the arm of the balance; I have not falsified the tongue [of
the balance]; I have not snatched away the
milk from the mouth of children; and I have not driven off the
cattle from their pastures.” Then follow some delinquencies which have a
purely Egyptian smack: “I have not stopped the water at its appointed
time; I have not diverted a runnel of water in its course.” Obviously,
water, being in Egypt the producer of life, is regarded with a veneration
and respect that it could not have in a country not wholly dependent on a
large river and on inundation. There are also trespasses with reference to
the gods. We have seen above that the dead man denies that he had
diminished or stolen the offerings; other transgressions refer to the
ceremonies, like the following, the last in the list: “I have not put
myself in the way of the god when he cometh forth,” that is, when the god
is led forth in procession in the temple at his festival. And at the very
end the dead man exclaims: “I am pure, I am
pure .... let no harm come to me in this land, in the Hall of Justice,
because I know the name of all the gods who make their appearance in
it.”
The
foregoing is only a preliminary confession made at the gate; it is not
enough to justify the deceased. Anubis comes and takes him by the hand, and
leads him into the Hall of Justice. At the end of it Osiris,
the supreme judge, is enthroned in a pavilion; and sometimes with
him are four judges as assessors, the gods of the cardinal points. In front
of the judge is a balance, the tongue of
which Thoth (in the frontispiece it is
Horus) verifies, while round about him are forty-two
deities to whom the deceased has referred as being ready to devour
the guilty and drink his blood. These gods seem quite fit to inspire him
with terror. Sometimes also there is the
Enemy par excellence, “he who eats the
dead,”—a monster with a composite body
of three animals, a crocodile, a lion, and a hippopotamus. But what
completes the chilling terror of the deceased is that he
feels his heart is no longer in himself; he sees it before him in one of
the scales of the balance, and the goddess of Justice in the other.
His first cry is to it: “O Heart of my mother, Heart of my birth, Heart that
was mine on earth, rise not up as a witness against me, be not my adversary
before the Divine Powers, let not the scale
weigh against me in presence of the guardian of the Balance; do not
say, ‘See there what he has done, in truth he has done it’; do not suffer
wrongs to arise against me in presence of the great god of the Ament.” Then he begs his heart to come back to him, and to
be joined to him anew. The heart listens to his request, and it is found
to be neither too heavy nor too light. Yet, all the same, the
deceased must make his defence; and for
this purpose he challenges by name each of the forty-two deities who
assist in the judgment—the same that are ready to devour him if he
is found guilty—and he calls each of them to
witness that he has not committed any of the forty-two sins which would
entail his condemnation: “O thou who stridest with long steps, and
who makest thine appearance in Heliopolis, I am not a doer of wrong. O thou
who holdest the fire, and who makest thine appearance in Kheraha,
I have not been a robber. O thou god
(Thoth) with the long beak (beak of the ibis), and who appearest in
Eshmoun, I am not evil-minded,” and so
on through the forty-two. He thus repeats in greater detail the confession
made at the entrance. When we analyse this confession we are struck with
its lofty character and the development of the moral
sense that it reveals. If we compare it with the Decalogue, in
those commandments, for instance, which govern the relations between man
and man, we find that murder, adultery, and theft are forbidden in both
codes; false witness-bearing is
forbidden also in the Egyptian law under the calumny of “doing wrong to a
servant in the eyes of his master”; and if covetousness is not specially
named, the Egyptian law, on the other
hand, accentuates very forcibly the
forbidding of lying and deceit, a prohibition which Egyptians of
the present day appear often to forget. Blasphemy is banned, as well as
words spoken against the king.
Certain
obligations imposed are interesting, like the following: “I have not been
deaf to the words of justice (righteousness).” I was saying that
covetousness is not specially cited, at least not so clearly as in the
Hebrew law, but perhaps it is meant by the sentence which Renouf
translates thus: “I have no strong desire but for my own property.”
During
the confession Thoth is weighing the heart,
and afterwards he reports to the judge as to the state of the balance. I
translate from a papyrus written for a princess: “The princess is
triumphant; she has been weighed in the balance before the guardian
Anubis, under the command of the god of Hermopolis himself, in presence of
the powers of the Hall of Justice. No fault has been found in her; her heart is according totruth,
her members are pure, her whole body is free from evil, the
tongue of the balance shows true; there is no doubt; all her
members are perfect.” Then comes the decree of Osiris, the eternal god:
“Let her go forth victorious, to enter into every place she pleases, and
be with the spirits and the gods. She
will not be repulsed by the guardians of the gates of the West; grant her
food, offerings, drinks .... and clothes of fine linen”: whereupon her heart is restored to her.
Here,
then, we have the Egyptian conception of conscience.
Thus the most terrible accuser of man—he
who can most effectually bring down on his head the punishment he has
earned,—he whose assertions no one has skill to gainsay, is
man himself,his own heart,
that knows too well that he has broken a hundred times that moral law
which he knows perfectly.
When the dead man emerges triumphantly from the Hall of Justice, he goes
wherever he wills. Sometimes he enters a hall called “The Great”; he
declares that he is the man to whom those who see him say, “Come in peace.”
Every part of the hall asks him if he knows its name, the door, the floor,
etc., and everywhere he is allowed to pass. Later, he goes to see the fourteen abodes, or, as M. Maspero translates
the words, “the fourteen islands of the West.” In one of these are the two
green sycamores between which the sun passes as he [sic]
rises in the firmament; in another we see the Nile issuing from the caverns
of Elephantiné and running as far as Heliopolis, where it was supposed to
find a fresh source, for in the Egyptian mythology there are two Niles. It
is at this point the Book of the Dead of the Theban period usually ends,
with the words, “It is finished.” We now leave the dead man in
this ill-defined existence of his, in which he is at one time the double of his earthly personality, at
another a god, Osiris or Ra himself, at
another still, a bird or a lotus—an
existence in which he can assume any form he pleases, or contend
with malignant spirits, or devote himself to working in the fields
of the gardens of Aalou, where he has numberless courses open to him,
without following any definite line or complying with any obligation. All
this body of ideas, we repeat, represents the conceptions the Egyptian had
of the future life, but there is no possibility
of discovering in it a systematic or settled doctrine.