Like most peoples, the Ancient Egyptians loved to give their deities titles and honours. The goddess Seshet was known as Nebet Per Medjat, Lady of the Library, and Safekh Abui, She Who Wears Horns. Her name translates as ‘She Who Writes’. Described as the consort, or in some versions, daughter, of the ibis-headed Tehuti (whom the Greeks called Thoth), she shares the guardianship of scribes and writers with the Ibis God. Between them they produced the child Hornub, a manifestation of Heru or Horus.

Seshet guards the celestial Per Ankh, the Egyptian term for a library literally translating as the House of Life, and all earthly libraries. The Greek philosopher Hecateus describes a visit to a sacred library which bears a plaque declaring “the place of the cure of the soul” (in some translations this reads Hospital of the Soul). This collection of scrolls was of particularly sacred texts, emanating wisdom for the benefit of the reader. Many, this author included, can testify to the therapeutic powers of being among books. Whether the curative power came from the actual content of the scrolls, or simply from being in their presence, is unclear. Seshet also watches over those who write the books that fill library shelves. Like a divine version of the famed academic Hypatia of Alexandria, she is also the goddess of mathematicians, accountants, astronomers, architects, and horologists ~ the latter because it is she who measures the passage of time. Rather like the Moirai of Greece, she also paced out the length of the pharaoh’s reign. Accountancy may not seem the first career path to spring to mind when contemplating the mystical, but part of Seshet’s function was to take account of spoils of war. Whilst undoubtedly pharaohs wished to know just how much gold, rubies, diamonds and so forth were filling their treasuries, some of this accounting was also preparatory to the distribution of wealth to those warriors, generals, and so forth who had helped to acquire it. Rulers kept their thrones in no small part through acts of largesse and giving each their due.

She is depicted in human form, lacking the animal-head of most other Egyptian deities, and normally wearing the leopard skin cloak of a funerary priestess. This is reminiscent of her role in deciding when to sever the thread of life. She records the names and deeds of the blessed dead, the Akhu, upon the leaves of the Tree of Life (usually thought to be a persea tree, a genus that forms part of the laurel family). One beautifully poetic funeral text has her saying, “My hand writes the length of his reign as it comes out from the mouth of Ra. My pen is Eternity, my ink is Forever.”

As a goddess of builders and architects, she was invoked at the start of any temple building project with a ritual known as Pedjeshes (Stretching the Cord). In this ceremony the Pharaoh would symbolically start the work by using a plumb line to take measurements ~ not unlike the habit of calling in modern day dignitaries to either lay the first brick or dig the first shovel-full of soil for the benefit of the journalists. Kate Spence refers to the goddess’ role in correctly aligning new buildings through the use of the cord. This may have aligned the building with other significant landmarks, with stellar patterns, or possibly with energetic forces in the land itself (what these days is likely to be labelled ley lines). This may have been quite similar to the way Feng Shui is used in some East Asian countries to harmonise new buildings with the unseen forces. This would be consistent with the broader philosophical notion of ma’at and the wish to work in a harmonious fashion rather than just depositing buildings anywhere that was available. As a goddess of mathematics, She would doubtless sympathise with Pythagoras’ view that number is proportion which in turn leads to harmony. Maybe the alignment was a combination of many factors.

To understand the significance of her role, one must pause and try to visualise the Black Land as it was seven thousand years ago. Back then nobody could read or write. There were no newspapers, e-mails, texts, Facebook pages, novels, nor any other means of mass communication. For an idea to be transmitted, it had to be done orally. An idea could be transmitted only to those people who could hear it. The limits of memory defined the limits of history and knowledge for most of the population. The invention of writing, which the Egyptians attributed to Seshet (though it was Tehuti who actually passed it on to humanity in a manner reminiscent of Prometheus bringing fire to mortals), enabled a tiny number of people to expand the potential of memory almost without limit. The word hieroglyph comes from the Greek, meaning sacred writing. In the Egyptians’ own language, they were called medu netjer, words of the God. The spoken word was the basis of Egyptian magic, heka, and so Seshet may be considered a deity who made possible the wedja (written amulet magic) so beloved of both ancient and modern pagans.

The creation of the written word revolutionised society. Writing means that not only can we access more information than most of us are capable of remembering, but that the potential for communication flowers. The capacity to write, no matter in which language, enables a person to transmit their ideas across vast distances and centuries to potentially enormous numbers of people whom they could never physically meet. In some respects, writing is a form of necromancy, enabling us to commune with the dead and discern their thoughts. These odd little symbols we call letters enable me to live beyond the grave, to become the shade that future necromancers consult. To be remembered, whether for good or ill, is to attain a form of immortality. As Seshet might say these days, my laptop is indeed Eternity and my ink-cartridge is Forever. Seshet’s capacity to record is also her capacity to preserve. The challenge of translating the hieroglyphs reminds us of a barrier or challenge within this form of magic – that all languages are filled with nuance which is so often lost when the last speaker dies and can no longer explain the subtleties, contexts, and allusions familiar to the native speakers. When one considers the profoundly magical nature of writing, it becomes all the sadder to consider what utter twaddle many people who put pen to paper, or finger to mobile phone, produce!

The hieroglyphic symbol of Seshet has posed something of a puzzle. Seen on the top of her head, a long vertical line leads to a circle from which radiate seven shorter lines or petal-like shapes ~ all of this contained under the umbrella of what looks like upturned horns. It is possibly a stellar allusion to a constellation with seven stars (such as the Peliades), though none of them form a circle the way the petals do, or to astrological concepts. Of course, the number seven has a great many resonances in cultures around the world, from musical scales to chakras. None of these are necessarily what the Egyptians would have had in mind. Egyptologists have yet to decipher the meaning of the symbol, though some have suggested it may be a papyrus plant ~ largely due to its use by scribes. However, the symbol for papyrus is already known, which suggests this means something else. One alternate theory is that the botanical design is actually either a lotus or a stylised cannabis leaf, this plant being used by the Egyptians both as a recreational drug, as a medicine, and for making various hemp products.

Those seeking to commune with Seshet might be advised to light seven candles and surround themselves with the texts they consider most sacred to them. Invocations could be written as they are spoken aloud, with the inscribed paper becoming part of the ritual offering.

Robin Herne is a storyteller, poet, artist, dog-owner and Druid. He has written numerous articles for Pagan magazines (such as Pagan Dawn, Many Gods-Many Voices, & Dragonswood), Interfaith books (Pagan Pieces), and had poems included in the work of other authors (Galina Krasskovas’ ‘Full Fathom Five’). He has also contributed crime fiction to anthologies, appeared in television documentaries, and is a regular broadcaster with BBC Radio Suffolk. He regularly speaks at Interfaith seminars, Pagan conventions, and other events as both a lecturer and a storyteller. He currently lives in Suffolk, England and is a founder member of both the Druid group Clan Ogma and the Ipswich Pagan Council. He is also proud to be the first winner of the title Chief Bard of the Fens!

For more information: https://www.collectiveinkbooks.com/moon-books/our-books/pantheon-egyptians