The Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead: A Guidebook for Surviving the Afterlife

The say­ing “You can’t take it with you” may be a cliché to all of us here in the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry, but it would hard­ly have made sense to an ancient Egypt­ian. One of the most wide­ly known qual­i­ties of that civ­i­liza­tion’s upper crust, after all, is that its mem­bers spared no expense try­ing to do just that. The most com­pelling evi­dence includes the tombs of the pharaohs, lav­ish­ly stocked as they were with every­thing from dai­ly neces­si­ties to reli­gious arti­facts to ser­vants (in effi­gy or oth­er­wise). And nobody who was any­body in ancient Egypt would be seen shuf­fling off this mor­tal coil — or what­ev­er the shape in which their poets cast it — with­out a Book of the Dead.

“A stan­dard com­po­nent in Egypt­ian elite buri­als, the Book of the Dead was not a book in the mod­ern sense of the term but a com­pendi­um of some 200 rit­u­al spells and prayers, with instruc­tions on how the deceased’s spir­it should recite them in the here­after,” writes the New York Times’ Franz Lidz.

“Com­piled and refined over mil­len­ni­ums since about 1550 B.C.,” the text “pro­vid­ed a sort of visu­al map that allowed the new­ly dis­em­bod­ied soul to nav­i­gate the duat, a maze-like nether­world of cav­erns, hills and burn­ing lakes.” Each of its “spells” addressed a par­tic­u­lar sit­u­a­tion the deceased might encounter on that jour­ney: a snake attack, decap­i­ta­tion, a turn­ing upside down that “would reverse your diges­tive func­tions and cause you to con­sume your own waste.”

We can cer­tain­ly under­stand why these high-sta­tus ancient Egyp­tians did­n’t want to take their chances. In the ani­mat­ed Ted-ED video above, you can fol­low the jour­ney of one such indi­vid­ual, a scribe from thir­teenth-cen­tu­ry-BC Thebes called Anees. After his body under­goes two months of mum­mi­fi­ca­tion, his spir­it makes its har­row­ing jour­ney through the under­world, call­ing upon the spells he’d thought to include in his Book of the Dead when alive. Then comes moral judg­ment by a bat­tery of 42 “asses­sor gods” and a weigh­ing of his heart, the final step before his admit­tance to a lush wheat field that is the Egypt­ian after­life. Whether Anees got that far remains an open ques­tion, but mod­ern phys­i­cal and dig­i­tal enshrine­ment of Books of the Dead (more of which you can see up-close at Google Arts & Cul­ture), has grant­ed him and his com­pa­tri­ots a kind of immor­tal­i­ty after all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Did the Egyp­tians Make Mum­mies? An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Ancient Art of Mum­mi­fi­ca­tion

Hear Lau­rie Ander­son Read from the Tibetan Book of the Dead on New Album Songs from the Bar­do

Sci­en­tists Dis­cov­er that Ancient Egyp­tians Drank Hal­lu­cino­genic Cock­tails from 2,300 Year-Old Mug

When the Grate­ful Dead Played at the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids, in the Shad­ow of the Sphinx (1978)

Were the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Not Built Up, But Carved Down?: A Bold New The­o­ry Explains Their Con­struc­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Dead Sea Scrolls: Discover the Secrets of the Bible’s Oldest and Strangest Texts

The appear­ance of the Dead Sea Scrolls was the most impor­tant doc­u­ment dis­cov­ery of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry. Yet, in some sense, they did­n’t deliv­er what many assumed to be promised with­in: that is, the basis for a com­plete revi­sion of every­thing we thought we knew about Chris­tian­i­ty. The real­i­ty of the Dead Sea Scrolls’ con­tent is less sim­ple, but also stranger — which makes it an ide­al sub­ject for the YouTube chan­nel Hochela­ga, giv­en its pen­chant for explor­ing the obscure byways of reli­gious his­to­ry. And indeed, as host Tom­mie Trelawny says in his new video above, they are the “old­est Bib­li­cal writ­ings ever found,” a sta­tus that, what­ev­er their specifics, cer­tain­ly jus­ti­fies the great scruti­ny paid to them over the past eight decades.

For it was only in 1946 that the Scrolls were found, by a Bedouin shep­herd look­ing for his lost goat in a series of caves in the vicin­i­ty of ancient ruins by the Dead Sea. Or so the sto­ry goes, any­way, and Trelawny explains some of the com­pli­ca­tions that emerge when it’s exam­ined more close­ly.

But the fact remains that those caves did con­tain, tight­ly rolled up and for the most part well-pre­served, a set of scrolls adding up to “around 900 indi­vid­ual man­u­scripts: 40 per­cent of them “resem­bled books found in the Bible”; 30 per­cent, apoc­ryphal writ­ings “banned” from the Bible; and anoth­er 30 per­cent, “writ­ings pre­vi­ous­ly unknown to schol­ar­ship.” Those last include “texts that described a secre­tive reli­gious com­mu­ni­ty and apoc­a­lyp­tic visions of a great heav­en­ly war.”

Most intrigu­ing­ly, there was also “a scroll made entire­ly of cop­per that lists the loca­tions of lost trea­sure.” None of it has ever been found, much as the con­tent of the oth­er texts has­n’t forced a great rethink­ing of the reli­gion at the cen­ter of so much of West­ern civ­i­liza­tion. In fact, as Bib­li­cal schol­ar Robert Alter writes in the Lon­don Review of Books, “the notion that these sec­tar­i­an writ­ings are actu­al­ly Chris­t­ian has no schol­ar­ly cred­i­bil­i­ty,” though some researchers argue that “the blue­print for the Gospel nar­ra­tives,” mes­si­ah fig­ure and all, “was laid out in the Scrolls and fol­lowed by the first Chris­t­ian writ­ers.” They do, how­ev­er, reveal a great deal about the world­view of the par­tic­u­lar fringe faith­ful who took to the desert to keep their unortho­dox beliefs safe from the harsh judg­ment of main­stream soci­ety — and, for about twen­ty cen­turies, safe they remained.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Google Puts The Dead Sea Scrolls Online (in Super High Res­o­lu­tion)

Google Dig­i­tizes Ancient Copies of the Ten Com­mand­ments and Gen­e­sis

2,000-Year-Old Man­u­script of the Ten Com­mand­ments Gets Dig­i­tized: See/Download “Nash Papyrus” in High Res­o­lu­tion

How Ancient Scrolls, Charred by the Erup­tion of Mount Vesu­vius in 79 AD, Are Now Being Read by Par­ti­cle Accel­er­a­tors, 3D Mod­el­ing & Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

The Gnos­tic Gospels: An Intro­duc­tion to the For­bid­den Teach­ings of Jesus

Intro­duc­tion to the Old Tes­ta­ment: A Free Yale Course

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Cats in Medieval Manuscripts & Paintings

Renais­sance artist Albrecht Dür­er  (1471–1528) nev­er saw a rhi­no him­self, but by rely­ing on eye­wit­ness descrip­tions of the one King Manuel I of Por­tu­gal intend­ed as a gift to the Pope, he man­aged to ren­der a fair­ly real­is­tic one, all things con­sid­ered.

Medieval artists’ ren­der­ings of cats so often fell short of the mark, Youtu­ber Art Deco won­ders if any of them had seen a cat before.

Point tak­en, but cats were well inte­grat­ed into medieval soci­ety.

Roy­al 12 C xix f. 36v/37r (13th cen­tu­ry)

Cats pro­vid­ed medieval cit­i­zens with the same pest con­trol ser­vices they’d been per­form­ing since the ancient Egyp­tians first domes­ti­cat­ed them.

Ancient Egyp­tians con­veyed their grat­i­tude and respect by regard­ing cats as sym­bols of divin­i­ty, pro­tec­tion, and strength.

Cer­tain Egypt­ian god­dess­es, like Bastet, were imbued with unmis­tak­ably feline char­ac­ter­is­tics.

The Vin­tage News reports that harm­ing a cat in those days was pun­ish­able by death, export­ing them was ille­gal, and, much like today, the death of a cat was an occa­sion for pub­lic sor­row:

When a cat died, it was buried with hon­ors, mum­mi­fied and mourned by the humans. The body of the cat would be wrapped in the finest mate­ri­als and then embalmed in order to pre­serve the body for a longer time. Ancient Egyp­tians went so far that they shaved their eye­brows as a sign of their deep sor­row for the deceased pet.

Aberdeen Uni­ver­si­ty Library, MS 24  f. 23v (Eng­land, c 1200)

The medieval church took a much dark­er view of our feline friends.

Their close ties to pagan­ism and ear­ly reli­gions were enough for cats to be judged guilty of witch­craft, sin­ful sex­u­al­i­ty, and frat­er­niz­ing with Satan.

In the late 12th-cen­tu­ry, writer Wal­ter Map, a soon-to-be archdea­con of Oxford, declared that the dev­il appeared before his devo­tees in feline form:

… hang­ing by a rope, a black cat of great size. As soon as they see this cat, the lights are turned out. They do not sing or recite hymns in a dis­tinct way, but they mut­ter them with their teeth closed and they feel in the dark towards where they saw their lord, and when they find it, they kiss it, the more humbly depend­ing on their fol­ly, some on the paws, some under the tail, some on the gen­i­tals. And as if they have, in this way, received a license for pas­sion, each one takes the near­est man or woman and they join them­selves with the oth­er for as long as they choose to draw out their game.

Pope Inno­cent VIII issued a papal bull in 1484 con­demn­ing the “devil’s favorite ani­mal and idol of all witch­es” to death, along with their human com­pan­ions.

13th-cen­tu­ry Fran­cis­can monk Bartholo­maeus Angli­cus refrained from demon­ic tat­tle, but nei­ther did he paint cats as angels:

He is a full lech­er­ous beast in youth, swift, pli­ant, and mer­ry, and leapeth and reseth on every­thing that is to fore him: and is led by a straw, and playeth there­with: and is a right heavy beast in age and full sleepy, and lieth sly­ly in wait for mice: and is aware where they be more by smell than by sight, and hunteth and reseth on them in privy places: and when he taketh a mouse, he playeth there­with, and eateth him after the play. In time of love is hard fight­ing for wives, and one scratch­eth and ren­deth the oth­er griev­ous­ly with bit­ing and with claws. And he maketh a ruth­ful noise and ghast­ful, when one prof­fer­eth to fight with anoth­er: and unneth is hurt when he is thrown down off an high place. And when he hath a fair skin, he is as it were proud there­of, and goeth fast about: and when his skin is burnt, then he bideth at home; and is oft for his fair skin tak­en of the skin­ner, and slain and flayed.

Pigs and rats also had a bad rep, and like cats, were tor­tured and exe­cut­ed in great num­bers by pious humans.

The Work­sop Bes­tiary Mor­gan Library, MS M.81 f. 47r (Eng­land, c 1185)

Not every medieval city was anti-cat. As the Aca­d­e­m­ic Cat Lady Johan­na Feen­stra writes of the above illus­tra­tion from The Work­sop Bes­tiary, one of the ear­li­est Eng­lish bes­tiaries:

Some would have inter­pret­ed the image of a cat pounc­ing on a rodent as a sym­bol for the dev­il going after the human soul. Oth­ers might have seen the cat in a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent light. For instance, as Eucharis­tic guardians, mak­ing sure rodents could not steal and eat the Eucharis­tic wafers.

Bodleian Library Bod­ley 764 f. 51r (Eng­land, c 1225–50)

St John’s Col­lege Library, MS. 61 (Eng­land (York), 13th cen­tu­ry)

It took cat lover Leonar­do DaVin­ci to turn the sit­u­a­tion around, with eleven sketch­es from life por­tray­ing cats in char­ac­ter­is­tic pos­es, much as we see them today. We’ll delve more into that in a future post.

Con­rad of Megen­berg, ‘Das Buch der Natur’, Ger­many ca. 1434. Stras­bourg, Bib­lio­thèque nationale et uni­ver­si­taire, Ms.2.264, fol. 85r

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent

What Peo­ple Named Their Cats in the Mid­dle Ages: Gyb, Mite, Méone, Pan­gur Bán & More

Cats Migrat­ed to Europe 7,000 Years Ear­li­er Than Once Thought

Cats in Japan­ese Wood­block Prints: How Japan’s Favorite Ani­mals Came to Star in Its Pop­u­lar Art

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Cats: How Over 10,000 Years the Cat Went from Wild Preda­tor to Sofa Side­kick

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

The Greek Mythology Family Tree: A Visual Guide Shows How Zeus, Athena, and the Ancient Gods Are Related

It was long ago that poly­the­ism, as the sto­ry comes down to us, gave way to monothe­ism. Human­i­ty used to have many gods, and now almost every reli­gious believ­er acknowl­edges just one — though which god, exact­ly, does vary. Some pop­u­lar the­o­ries of “big his­to­ry” hold that, as the scale of a soci­ety grows larg­er, the num­ber of deities pro­posed by its faiths gets small­er. In that scheme, it makes sense that the grow­ing Roman Empire would even­tu­al­ly adopt Chris­tian­i­ty, and also that the gods it first inher­it­ed from the city-states of ancient Greece would be so numer­ous. Through our mod­ern eyes, the var­i­ous immor­tals invoked so read­i­ly by the Greeks look less like holy fig­ures than a cast of char­ac­ters in a long-run­ning tele­vi­sion dra­ma.

Or maybe it would have to be a soap opera, giv­en that most of them belong to one big, often trou­bled clan. Hence the struc­ture of Use­fulCharts’ Greek Mythol­o­gy Fam­i­ly Tree, explained in the video above. Also avail­able for pur­chase in poster form, it clear­ly dia­grams the rela­tion­ships between every­one in the Greek pan­theon, from the high­est “pri­mor­dial gods” like Eros Elder and Gaia down to the chil­dren of Zeus and Posei­don.

How­ev­er pow­er­ful they could be — and some were pow­er­ful indeed — none of these gods act­ed like the infal­li­ble, omni­scient enti­ties of the major reli­gions we know today. They could act capri­cious­ly, venge­ful­ly and even non­sen­si­cal­ly, a reflec­tion of the often capricious‑, vengeful‑, and non­sen­si­cal-seem­ing nature of life in the ancient world.

For the Greeks them­selves, these myth­i­cal gods and mon­sters offered not just an explana­to­ry mech­a­nism, but also a form of enter­tain­ment, giv­en that noth­ing could go on in their ele­vat­ed world with­out high dra­ma. For us, they remain present in leg­ends from which we still draw inspi­ra­tion for our own larg­er-than-life sto­ries of hero­ism and vil­lainy, but also in our very lan­guage. Con­sid­er the ways in which we con­tin­ue to evoke the likes of the time-rul­ing Chronos, the love-bring­ing Cupid, the androg­y­nous Her­maph­ro­di­tus, or the mul­ti-head­ed Hydra in every­day speech. Though we may no longer need them to orga­nize our soci­eties, some of them have kept play­ing roles in the age of monothe­ism — which, what­ev­er its oth­er advan­tages, does­n’t require us to con­sult dia­grams to know who’s who.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mythos: An Ani­ma­tion Retells Time­less Greek Myths with Abstract Mod­ern Designs

Mythol­o­gy Expert Reviews Depic­tions of Greek & Roman Myths in Pop­u­lar Movies and TV Shows

How the Ancient Greeks Built Their Mag­nif­i­cent Tem­ples: The Art of Ancient Engi­neer­ing

18 Clas­sic Myths Explained with Ani­ma­tion: Pandora’s Box, Sisy­phus & More

Con­cepts of the Hero in Greek Civ­i­liza­tion (A Free Har­vard Course)

A Visu­al Time­line of World His­to­ry: Watch the Rise & Fall of Civ­i­liza­tions Over 5,000 Years

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Gnostic Gospels: An Introduction to the Forbidden Teachings of Jesus

It would be impos­si­ble to under­stand West­ern civ­i­liza­tion with­out under­stand­ing the his­to­ry of Chris­tian­i­ty. But in order to do that, it may serve us well to think of it as the his­to­ry of Chris­tian­i­ties, plur­al. So sug­gests Hochela­ga cre­ator Tom­mie Trelawny in the new video above, which explains the Gnos­tic Gospels, the “for­bid­den teach­ings of Jesus.” As a sys­tem of beliefs, Gnos­ti­cism is a fair­ly far cry from the main­stream forms of Chris­tian­i­ty with which most of us are famil­iar today. But its sur­viv­ing texts may sound uncan­ni­ly famil­iar, despite also involv­ing out­landish-sound­ing ele­ments that seem to belong to anoth­er civ­i­liza­tion entire­ly. Gnos­tic teach­ings have long been con­sid­ered heresy by Chris­tians, but do they real­ly rep­re­sent just a dif­fer­ent evo­lu­tion­ary branch of the faith: anoth­er Chris­tian­i­ty?

Reli­gious schol­ars of many stripes have con­cerned them­selves with few mat­ters as inten­sive­ly as they have with theod­i­cy, that is, the mat­ter of how to square the notion of a good, omnipo­tent deity with the obvi­ous exis­tence of evil down here in the world. Since its loose coali­tion of beliefs came togeth­er in the late first cen­tu­ry, Gnos­ti­cism has pro­posed an ele­gant solu­tion: that the deity is not, in fact, good, or rather, that under the tran­scen­dent, unknow­able God is a much more poor­ly behaved “demi­urge” who dis­plays an indif­fer­ence, at best, to the lot of human­i­ty. In this view, our result­ing world is less a per­fect cre­ation than a cos­mic mis­take — a propo­si­tion that would account for cer­tain of its qual­i­ties we expe­ri­ence on the day-to-day lev­el, even if we have no par­tic­u­lar reli­gious pro­cliv­i­ties.

Thanks to the dis­cov­ery of Egyp­t’s Nag Ham­ma­di library in 1945, we can direct­ly access many of the teach­ings of the so-called “Gnos­tic Gospels.” They tell us, to make a few grand sim­pli­fi­ca­tions, that our real­i­ty is illu­so­ry and that we can only come to grasp the true nature of both it and our­selves through eso­teric learn­ing, gno­sis being the ancient Greek term for knowl­edge. This world­view may bring to mind that of cer­tain Greek philoso­phers, or indeed that of The Matrix, a near-oblig­a­tory ref­er­ence for a video like this. A quar­ter-cen­tu­ry on from that movie, it’s not hard to under­stand why it res­onat­ed with the siz­able-enough pro­por­tion of human­i­ty who feel alien­at­ed from who they real­ly are or what the world real­ly is — and who, any mil­len­ni­um now, would make rea­son­ably promis­ing can­di­dates to bring about a Gnos­tic revival.

Relat­ed con­tent:

3,500 Occult Man­u­scripts Will Be Dig­i­tized & Made Freely Avail­able Online, Thanks to The Da Vin­ci Code Author Dan Brown

Behold the Codex Gigas (aka “Devil’s Bible”), the Largest Medieval Man­u­script in the World

The Phi­los­o­phy of The Matrix: From Pla­to and Descartes, to East­ern Phi­los­o­phy

The Ancient Greeks Who Con­vert­ed to Bud­dhism

Dis­cov­er Thomas Jefferson’s Cut-and-Paste Ver­sion of the Bible, and Read the Curi­ous Edi­tion Online

How Our Depic­tion of Jesus Changed Over 2,000 Years and What He May Have Actu­al­ly Looked Like

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Aleister Crowley Reads Occult Poetry in the Only Known Recordings of His Voice (1920)

Image by Jules Jacot Guil­lar­mod, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In 2016, we brought you a rather strange sto­ry about the rival­ry between poet William But­ler Yeats and magi­cian Aleis­ter Crow­ley. Theirs was a feud over the prac­tices of occult soci­ety the Her­met­ic Order of the Gold­en Dawn; but it was also—at least for Crowley—over poet­ry. Crow­ley envied Yeats’ lit­er­ary skill; Yeats could not say the same about Crow­ley. But while he did not nec­es­sar­i­ly respect his ene­my, Yeats feared him, as did near­ly every­one else. As Yeats’ biog­ra­ph­er wrote a few months after Crowley’s death in 1947, “in the old days men and women lived in ter­ror of his evil eye.”

The press called Crow­ley “the wickedest man in the world,” a rep­u­ta­tion he did more than enough to cul­ti­vate, iden­ti­fy­ing him­self as the Anti-Christ and dub­bing him­self “The Beast 666.” (Crow­ley may have inspired the “rough beast” of Yeats’ “The Sec­ond Com­ing.”) Crow­ley did not achieve the lit­er­ary recog­ni­tion he desired, but he con­tin­ued to write pro­lif­i­cal­ly after Yeats and oth­ers eject­ed him from the Gold­en Dawn in 1900: poet­ry, fic­tion, crit­i­cism, and man­u­als of sex mag­ic, rit­u­al, and symbolism—some penned dur­ing famed moun­taineer­ing expe­di­tions.

Through­out his life, Crow­ley was var­i­ous­ly a moun­taineer, chess prodi­gy, schol­ar, painter, yogi, and founder of a reli­gion he called Thele­ma. He was also a hero­in addict and by many accounts an extreme­ly abu­sive cult leader. How­ev­er one comes down on Crowley’s lega­cy, his influ­ence on the occult and the coun­ter­cul­ture is unde­ni­able. To delve into the his­to­ry of either is to meet him, the mys­te­ri­ous, bizarre, bald fig­ure whose the­o­ries inspired every­one from L. Ron Hub­bard and Anton LaVey to Jim­my Page and Ozzy Osbourne.

With­out Crow­ley, it’s hard to imag­ine much of the dark weird­ness of the six­ties and its result­ing flood of cults and eso­teric art. For some occult his­to­ri­ans, the Age of Aquar­ius real­ly began six­ty years ear­li­er, in what Crow­ley called the “Aeon of Horus.” For many oth­ers, Crowley’s influ­ence is inex­plic­a­ble, his books inco­her­ent, and his pres­ence in polite con­ver­sa­tion offen­sive. These are under­stand­able atti­tudes. If you’re a Crow­ley enthu­si­ast, how­ev­er, or sim­ply curi­ous about this leg­endary occultist, you have here a rare oppor­tu­ni­ty to hear the man him­self intone his poems and incan­ta­tions.

“Although this record­ing has pre­vi­ous­ly been avail­able as a ‘Boot­leg,’” say the CD lin­er notes from which this audio comes, “this is its first offi­cial release and to the label’s knowl­edge, con­tains the only known record­ing of Crow­ley.” Record­ed cir­ca 1920 on a wax cylin­der, the audio has been dig­i­tal­ly enhanced, although “sur­face noise may be evi­dent.” (Stream them above, or on this YouTube playlist here.) Indeed, it is dif­fi­cult to make out what Crow­ley is say­ing much of the time, but that’s not only to do with the record­ing qual­i­ty, but with his cryp­tic lan­guage. The first five tracks com­prise “The Call of the First Aethyr” and “The Call of the Sec­ond Aethyr.” Oth­er titles include “La Gitana,” “The Pen­ta­gram,” “The Poet,” “Hymn to the Amer­i­can Peo­ple,” and “Excerpts from the Gnos­tic Mass.”

It’s unclear under what cir­cum­stances Crow­ley made these record­ings or why, but like many of his books, they com­bine occult litur­gy, mythol­o­gy, and his own lit­er­ary utter­ances. Love him, hate him, or remain indif­fer­ent, there’s no get­ting around it: Aleis­ter Crow­ley had a tremen­dous influ­ence on the 20th cen­tu­ry and beyond, even if only a very few peo­ple have made seri­ous attempts to under­stand what he was up to with all that sex mag­ic, blood sac­ri­fice, and wicked­ly bawdy verse.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aleis­ter Crow­ley & William But­ler Yeats Get into an Occult Bat­tle, Pit­ting White Mag­ic Against Black Mag­ic (1900)

Aleis­ter Crow­ley: The Wickedest Man in the World Doc­u­ments the Life of the Bizarre Occultist, Poet & Moun­taineer

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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Meet the Forgotten Female Artist Behind the World’s Most Popular Tarot Deck (1909)

As an exer­cise draw a com­po­si­tion of fear or sad­ness, or great sor­row, quite sim­ply, do not both­er about details now, but in a few lines tell your sto­ry. Then show it to any one of your friends, or fam­i­ly, or fel­low stu­dents, and ask them if they can tell you what it is you meant to por­tray. You will soon get to know how to make it tell its tale.

- Pamela Col­man-Smith, “Should the Art Stu­dent Think?” July, 1908

A year after Arts and Crafts move­ment mag­a­zine The Crafts­man pub­lished illus­tra­tor Pamela Colman-Smith’s essay excerpt­ed above, she spent six months cre­at­ing what would become the world’s most pop­u­lar tarot deck. Her graph­ic inter­pre­ta­tions of such cards as The Magi­cianThe Tow­er, and The Hanged Man helped read­ers to get a han­dle on the sto­ry of every new­ly dealt spread.

Colman-Smith—known to friends as “Pixie”—was com­mis­sioned by occult schol­ar and author Arthur E. Waite, a fel­low mem­ber of the British occult soci­ety the Her­met­ic Order of the Gold­en Dawn, to illus­trate a pack of tarot cards.

In a humor­ous let­ter to her even­tu­al cham­pi­on, pho­tog­ra­ph­er Alfred Stieglitz, Col­man-Smith (1878 – 1951) described her 80 tarot paint­ings as “a big job for very lit­tle cash,” though she betrayed a touch of gen­uine excite­ment that they would be “print­ed in col­or by lith­o­g­ra­phy… prob­a­bly very bad­ly.”

Although Waite had some spe­cif­ic visu­al ideas with regard to the “astro­log­i­cal sig­nif­i­cance” of var­i­ous cards, Col­man-Smith enjoyed a lot of cre­ative lee­way, par­tic­u­lar­ly when it came to the Minor Arcana or pip cards.

These 56 num­bered cards are divid­ed into suits—wands, cups, swords and pen­ta­cles. Pri­or to Colman-Smith’s con­tri­bu­tion, the only exam­ple of a ful­ly illus­trat­ed Minor Arcana was to be found in the ear­li­est sur­viv­ing deck, the Sola Bus­ca, which dates to the ear­ly 1490s. A few of her Minor Arcana cards, notably 3 of Swords and 10 of Wands, make overt ref­er­ence to that deck, which she like­ly encoun­tered on a research expe­di­tion to the British Muse­um.

Most­ly the images were of Col­man-Smith’s own inven­tion, informed by her sound-col­or synes­the­sia and the clas­si­cal music she lis­tened to while work­ing. Her ear­ly expe­ri­ence in a tour­ing the­ater com­pa­ny helped her to con­vey mean­ing through cos­tume and phys­i­cal atti­tude.

Here are Pacif­ic North­west witch and tarot prac­ti­tion­er Moe Bow­stern’s thoughts on Smith’s Three of Pen­ta­cles:

Pen­ta­cles are the suit of Earth, rep­re­sen­ta­tive of struc­ture and foun­da­tion. Col­man-Smith’s the­ater-influ­enced designs here iden­ti­fy the occu­pa­tions of three fig­ures stand­ing in an apse of what appears to be a cathe­dral: a car­pen­ter with tools in hand; an archi­tect show­ing plans to the group; a ton­sured monk, clear­ly the stew­ard of the build­ing project. 

The over­all impres­sion is one of build­ing some­thing togeth­er that is much big­ger than any indi­vid­ual and which may out­last any indi­vid­ual life. The col­lab­o­ra­tion is root­ed in the hands-on mate­r­i­al work of foun­da­tion build­ing, requir­ing many view­points.

A spe­cial Pix­ie Smith touch is the phys­i­cal ele­va­tion of the car­pen­ter, who would have been placed on the low­est rung of medieval soci­ety hier­ar­chies. Smith has him on a bench, show­ing the impor­tance of get­ting hands on with the project. 

For years, Col­man-Smith’s cards were referred to as the Rid­er-Waite Tarot Deck. This gave a nod to pub­lish­er William Rid­er & Son, while neglect­ing to cred­it the artist respon­si­ble for the dis­tinc­tive gouache illus­tra­tions. It con­tin­ues to be sold under that ban­ner, but late­ly, tarot enthu­si­asts have tak­en to per­son­al­ly amend­ing the name to the Rid­er Waite Smith (RWS) or Waite Smith (WS) deck out of respect for its pre­vi­ous­ly unher­ald­ed co-cre­ator.

While Col­man-Smith is best remem­bered for her tarot imagery, she was also a cel­e­brat­ed sto­ry­teller, illus­tra­tor of children’s books and a col­lec­tion of Jamaican folk tales, cre­ator of elab­o­rate toy the­ater pieces, and mak­er of images on behalf of women’s suf­frage and the war effort dur­ing WWII.

Out­side of some ear­ly adven­tures in a trav­el­ing the­ater, and friend­ships with Stieglitz, author Bram Stok­er, actress Ellen Ter­ry, and poet William But­ler Yeats, cer­tain details of her per­son­al life—namely her race and sex­u­al orientation—are dif­fi­cult to divine. It’s not for lack of inter­est. She is the focus of sev­er­al biogra­phies and an increas­ing num­ber of blog posts.

It’s sad, but not a total shock­er, to learn that this inter­est­ing, mul­ti-tal­ent­ed woman died in pover­ty in 1951. Her paint­ings and draw­ings were auc­tioned off, with the pro­ceeds going toward her debts. Her death cer­tifi­cate list­ed her occu­pa­tion not as artist but as “Spin­ster of Inde­pen­dent Means.” Lack­ing funds for a head­stone, she was buried in an unmarked grave.

Read some of her let­ters to Alfred Stieglitz at Yale University’s Bei­necke Rare Book and Man­u­script Library col­lec­tion.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2021.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ale­jan­dro Jodor­owsky Explains How Tarot Cards Can Give You Cre­ative Inspi­ra­tion

Carl Jung on the Pow­er of Tarot Cards: They Pro­vide Door­ways to the Uncon­scious & Per­haps a Way to Pre­dict the Future

Sal­vador Dalí’s Tarot Cards Get Re-Issued: The Occult Meets Sur­re­al­ism in a Clas­sic Tarot Card Deck

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

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Why Real Biblical Angels Are Creepy, Beastly, and Hardly Angelic

Near­ly 70 per­cent of Amer­i­cans believe in angels, at least accord­ing to a sta­tis­tic often cit­ed in recent years. But what, exact­ly, comes to their minds — or those of any oth­er believ­ers around the world — when they imag­ine one? Per­son­al con­cep­tions may vary, of course, but we can be fair­ly cer­tain of one thing: most of them will bear no resem­blance to the angels actu­al­ly described in the Bible. Here to give us a sense of their appear­ance is Tom­mie Trelawny, cre­ator of the YouTube chan­nel Hochela­ga, whose video above explains “Why Bible Accu­rate Angels Are So Creepy.”

Far from the winged, white-robed embod­i­ments of gen­tle­ness we might know from greet­ing cards, says Trelawny, the angels of the Bible, and specif­i­cal­ly the Old Tes­ta­ment, are “hor­ri­fy­ing abom­i­na­tions” who would be more at home in an H. P. Love­craft nov­el. Angel, from the Greek ange­los, which itself comes from the Hebrew mal’akh, means “mes­sen­ger.” That implies an innocu­ous-enough set of duties, but then, you may recall the sto­ry of Passover, with its angel who slaugh­tered the Egyp­tians’ first-born sons; or the angel who “struck 70,000 Israelites to death”; or the angel who “sin­gle­hand­ed­ly killed 185,000 Assyr­i­an sol­diers in one night.”

The Bible does­n’t say any­thing about those angels hav­ing wings. “In fact, they look like any ordi­nary per­son,” as do even the most famous exam­ples like Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael. In the grand heav­en­ly scheme of things, such humanoid angels, or Malakh, don’t rank par­tic­u­lar­ly high. Still, they’re one rung above the Cheru­bim, who turn out to be less like Cupid and more like “the myth­i­cal beasts of ancient Mesopotamia, espe­cial­ly the Baby­lon­ian Lamas­su, which has the wings of an eagle, the body of a lion, and the head of a king” — with a more-than-pass­ing resem­blance to the Egypt­ian sphinx or the Hit­tite grif­fin. Even the pop­u­lar image of the pudgy, fly­ing cherub, which emerged much lat­er, seems to have been import­ed from Greek and Roman myths.

Ranked above the Malakh are the six-winged Seraphim, or “burn­ing ones.” The ori­gins of these “care­tak­ers of God’s throne” are sug­gest­ed by the Hebrew word Saraph, mean­ing “a ven­omous ser­pent in the desert,” much like the cobra whose image adorned the head of the Egypt­ian pharaoh. As for the Ophan­im, it’s any­one’s guess where they come from. Tak­ing the form of a wheel with­in a wheel float­ing in the sky, its rims lined with eyes, an Ophan would make for an intim­i­dat­ing sight indeed: per­haps a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the wheels of God’s char­i­ot, per­haps the result of “the prophet ingest­ing a psy­che­del­ic plant,” and per­haps — accord­ing to a fringe the­o­ry — vis­i­ta­tion by a space­craft. What­ev­er the evi­dence for those expla­na­tions, it’s safe to say they’re not quite as com­fort­ing as all those placid celes­tial harpists.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Our Depic­tion of Jesus Changed Over 2,000 Years and What He May Have Actu­al­ly Looked Like

The Ori­gins of Satan: The Evo­lu­tion of the Dev­il in Reli­gion

Behold the Codex Gigas (aka “Devil’s Bible”), the Largest Medieval Man­u­script in the World

Chris­tian­i­ty Through Its Scrip­tures: A Free Course from Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty

Angels & Demons: The Sci­ence Revealed

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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