Generally, lamentation—the sorrowful bewailing of death or tragedy, often public—is the job of women. This is because, stereotypically, women are more comfortable expressing sorrow with tears than are men who, stereotypically, tend to express their strong emotions with anger.
This was also true in ancient Egypt, but as was so often the case, Egypt was a little bit different. If we can believe Herodotus, both men and women offered dramatic demonstrations of grief. He writes that when someone in the household died, men, like women, would “gird their dress below their waist,” (meaning that they hiked up their garments to bare their legs?), go out into the streets, beat their chests in grief, and throw mud or dust upon their heads.
Osiris, of course, is the archetypal dead Egyptian and Horus models male grief in bewailing the death of His father in several ancient texts dealing with the subject. In a text known as the Ramesseum Dramatic Papyrus—which has been identified as part of the ceremonies of the ascension to the throne and is the script (more or less) for a dramatic enactment of the death of Osiris and the triumph of Horus—Horus laments: “I have embraced this my father who had grown weary, until he regained health.”
Horus’ lamentation does not merely express grief. It is part of Osiris regaining health.
The sorrow of Horus for His father is powerful, yet the sorrow of Isis and Nephthys—and particularly of His Beloved Isis—is even more so. From time immemorial, two women take the vital roles of lead mourners in royal funerals: the Big Wailing Woman and the Little Wailing Woman; and from this very early time, they are identified with Isis and Nephthys and given the official title of the Two Djereti, the Two Kites.
The Wailing Women lament the deceased just as the Goddesses lament the God, expressing grief and love and loss. I’ve written a bit about the ritual lamentations of the Goddesses here. The purpose of Their lamentation is stated in one of the ritual texts that “must be recited in every place belonging to Osiris, at each of his festivals, to delight his soul, to preserve his body, to lend breath to the nostrils of him whose throat has been throttled, and to bestow life, eternity, and prosperity on Osiris Taneterutj [a personal name].”
Thus the lamentations themselves are beneficial. The lamentations, in a way, take care of Osiris. This is expressed in another of the names of Isis and Nephthys: the Two Female Attendants, a designation that more properly means the Two Nurses. Like a baby at birth, Osiris at His rebirth needs the services of two Divine Nurses. Yet another of the Goddesses’ titles explains even more about the magic They’re working. They are also called the Two Eulogists Who Praise Osiris, a title usually given to a priestess worshipping her Deity. Thus here, Isis and Nephthys are Divine Priestesses Who are actually evoking Osiris. Their songs of lamentation call the God back to life by “glorifying” Him, a word that in Egyptian contains the meaning of making Him an Aakhu, a Shining One, a Glorified Spirit.
There are several gestures of lamentation seen in ancient Egyptian art that, I believe, refer to another aspect of the magic Isis and Nephthys work to revive Osiris. The Two Goddesses fold their wings (remember that They are Bird Goddesses—Two Kite Hawks) over Osiris. Their power magically protects Him, but it also enables Isis to fan the Breath of Life into Him. “I restored wind to his nostrils so that he would live” says Isis. “Isis provides thee with life” says the text.
In imitation of the Goddesses, Egyptian women in mourning can be seen making gestures that look like the folding of wings. The hands might be crossed over the heart, below the waist, or with one hand gripping the wrist of the other. All three are gestures that surround and protect with the arms, arms that in the Two Djereti would be winged and imbued with the magic of Life.
Just as the laments of the Two Goddesses are magically powerful, so our own human lamentation is both powerful and needful. When death or tragedy strikes, we must express our pain and allow ourselves the time to simply be in pain. The pain is real; there is no need to deny it. Yet at the same time, our lamentation, like that of Isis and Nephthys, eventually calls us back to life—which does go on no matter how utterly impossible that may seem.
What about Art in Ancient Egypt?
Reblogged this on The Darkness in the Light.
As I’ve been getting older I find myself at more and more funerals. Sigh! A frequent experience, you’ve no doubt shared, is that the principal mourners are often ‘overcome’ and unable to eulogise the deceased as they would wish – and of course it is their last chance to do so in public.
Now I find many aspects of conventional (ie Western secular / Christian) funeral style deepy disfunctional or even insulting to both the bereaved and the deceased, but after thinking that, I have to think how I would want to do things differently.
I was inspired by some of your work in ‘Offering to Isis’, specifically by ‘Black Robe’ and ‘Black Isis Bands’, re-interpreted somewhat. My thoughts were firstly, that the celebrant should specifically wrap each speaker in a special / sacred ‘Black Robe’ so that they may feel themselves wrapped in the Arms of the Mourning Sisters Isis and Nephthys, and thereby empowered to speak and function despite their personal pain.
Secondly then, they should keep this robe but leave it out of doors to weather over their period of extended mourning until it is in tatters. Alternatively, if it were a comparatively fancy robe provided by the celebrant, it could have detachable bands – held by one thread perhaps – given to each mourner after they’ve spoken, to wear for the remainder of public proceedings. The strips (the ‘ Black Bands’) might be tied to a tree sometime later, maybe at Samhain. Eventually, probably a year or more after the death, all remnants would be given to the sacred fire. (Of course this also needs ‘follow-on’ ceremonies for the bereaved, which rarely happen.)
I managed to do some of this after the death of my own mother a couple of years ago. Does anyone have any experience in this sense of ‘practical magic’ related to bereavement ministry (or otherwise would like to comment)?
Thank you for this post, I am close to tears myself thinking of Harold and how much I miss our priest of Horus.
Ah, I knew him so briefly, but yes, a wonderful man and priest.