I have been asked before: “Why don’t you start your own church?” Here are some reasons why this is not only unnecessary for Setians, but probably undesirable as well.
The question has been raised before: why not start a new Setian church—one that speaks to those of us who actually revere and venerate Set, and which honors Him above all other gods?
It is certainly true that some things are easier to accomplish in groups, and that there are limits to what any one individual can do alone. But what exactly do we need to “do” for Set in large crowds? He does not demand to be worshiped by the masses. He is a hunter god who is always on the prowl, and who is much more concerned with saving all our butts from crazy hellbeasts than He is with micromanaging our lives. Divinities like Set are loners who tend to prefer the company of other loners, if They desire any company at all.
It will be pointed out, of course, that His Nocturnal Majesty was worshiped in certain ancient Egyptian temples. This is quite true, but Egyptian temples worked very differently than modern churches do. Their innermost sanctuaries were closed to the public, and the priestly rituals for a temple’s god(s) were generally private. Though public piety existed, the Egyptians had no concept of “going to church” as such; they more often honored their ancestors and/or the god(s) of their choice at home, or at neighborhood shrines that technically weren’t on temple grounds. Along with just being good neighbors and citizens, this was the basic template for religion in ancient Kemet; there were no dogmatic litmus tests for “membership,” and there was no real concern for what individuals might or might not believe theologically. I think it’s probably fair to say most Setians, Kemetics, and polytheists in general are already living this way by default, and we clearly don’t need a church to continue doing so.
It’s also worth noting that our Western model of religious affiliation appears to be slowly going extinct. The most vocal and visible churches continue to deny science and harbor known evildoers among their leadership. Such institutions have consistently raped, murdered, or otherwise oppressed countless innocents throughout history. The masses have grown tired of their bullshit, and church attendance is now at an all-time low. So perhaps starting a church in today’s environment would not be the wisest investment of anyone’s time and resources. Again, our god doesn’t necessarily want to be worshiped by large crowds of people anyway; nor does He want us to waste our energy fighting each other, which we are much more likely to do when we gather in large numbers. Virtually every organized religion has been fragmented by its own rival sects over time; it is human nature for groups of people to quarrel and eventually schism. I therefore see little point in trying to coordinate such a project, only to have it eventually fall apart or become corrupt.
Church corruption is most blatant when it comes to our tax exemption laws, which are meant to help them invest as much of their funding into charity as possible. This seems perfectly legit—money that is used to help others ought not to be taxed. But the problem is that most church spending around the world does not actually go into charity. Most of that spending goes into building lavish cathedrals, lobbying for (usually conservative or right-wing) political causes, and acquiring more converts (i.e., donors). In some cases, the money just goes straight into the leadership’s pockets. The truth is that churches are really more like businesses than anyone wants to admit. Time and time again, the government has given stimulus money to corporations so they can pay better wages to their employees, only for the employers to predictably keep all that money for themselves. Churches function in much the same way, except they don’t have to pay any of what they keep back to the rest of society, and the government bails them out every fucking year.
The saddest part of all this is that if we DID tax churches, we would have MORE than enough money in the national budget to shelter all of our homeless citizens, improve all of our schools, and finance other badly needed social initiatives—things churches are supposed to do with all their money, but don’t. It seems clear to me at least that organized, institutionalized religion holds us back from evolving and growing into a truly advanced society; it always has, and it always will.
I realize I must sound like an atheist to some people. I am not. My faith in Set and other divinities, though unique, is considerably devout. I did not say religion is the problem—I said that organized, institutionalized religion is the problem. We are taught in this culture to think of faith as something that must always be standardized and static, never being allowed to change. But once upon a time, religion was much more personal and fluid for the vast majority of believers across the globe. Some of us, including yours truly, still adhere to this perspective today, and it may very well become the norm again quite soon.
It is true that churches can provide avenues of critical social support for their members; yet there are safer and more sensible alternatives today. If Sally Setian needs money for an operation, we can launch a Kickstarter drive for her, and all the money donated to her will actually go to her bank account; it won’t be divided up (or outright stolen) to pay for some pastor’s new limousine. I enjoy sending donations to random people I know online who really need it whenever I can; but I would not enjoy being pressured to donate money to a church at regular intervals (upon fear of being considered “un-Setian” if I don’t).
Yet there is another, deeper reason why starting a Setian church doesn’t seem too worthwhile. We do not need to “serve” Set by “bringing more people” to Him. He neither expects nor even wants us to actively seek converts. If what we do helps others to find Him, it is a blessing and a work of great magic; but to try and aggressively expand our numbers is antithetical to the Setian disposition. It also suggests that Set needs us to go around convincing people to believe in Him, when He is perfectly capable of doing this Himself. If it is important enough to Him that someone should believe in Him for whatever reason, it is for Him and that person to decide together, and no one else. So most of us who are drawn to Set deplore proselytism, and would find the idea of “winning souls” for Him quaint at best.
I propose an alternative to all of this church nonsense: simple social networking. We are already talking to each other, collaborating with each other, and helping each other right here on the various social media we all frequent. And each of us is already doing and contributing about as much to our scene as we probably would if we were all in a church together (or in rival churches, bickering and quarreling with each other). I think this is more or less how walking with Set is meant to be. Our faith is not a dogma but an art, and our god is not a micromanager but a muse. Must artists join organized groups with rules and regulations to be artists? No, that isn’t how art works; and it isn’t how Setianism works either. We are not a congregation in need of a church; we’re more like a bunch of individual artists who just network with each other as needed or desired.
As a final note, some readers and listeners have referred to the LV-426 Tradition as a “church.” Just to be clear: we are not and have never claimed to be any such thing. LV-426 currently consists of only four people who grew up knowing each other; so I would sooner describe us as “a very small coven” at best.
I am sincerely grateful to Setken, Siobhan Welch, and several other beloved friends and family for their generous help in preparing this sermon for the public, and for encouraging me to preach again. Thank you all, and thank Set for each of you.
Forget what you think you “learned” from The Exorcist (1973) about Pazuzu, and join this mighty deity as He quests against both human and spiritual cruelty.
The last several months of my life have been quite painful, and I imagine I am not alone in this respect. Yet the gods are merciful and good, and one of them in particular saw fit to help me just recently, even though I have never specifically reached out to Him before.
Pazuzu is another ancient god who, like Set, has an extremely bad reputation today, thanks largely to William Peter Blatty and his novel, The Exorcist (i.e., the source material for the 1973 movie). It is interesting that Blatty would choose an explicitly Pagan deity for his novel’s antagonist, rather than one of the fallen angels from his own religious lore.
Far from possessing little girls and making them vomit pea soup or spider-walk up and down staircases, Pazuzu was commonly invoked in ancient times to protect pregnant mothers and newborn children from horrific monsters, most especially the night demon Lamashtu. Sure, He’s creepy and He’s kooky (again, much like Set), and He ain’t much for sunshine and rainbows. But no matter how “evil” people think Pazuzu might be, He clearly hates bullies who harm the defenseless; and though the identity of His mother in Assyro-Babylonian mythology seems unclear, I get a strong feeling that Pazuzu loves His mother very much indeed.
Last week, Pazuzu “possessed” me to record a new album in His honor (ha ha). I could barely sleep or even take any breaks while I put this puppy together. It HAD to be finished last week for some reason; imagine my surprise when I suddenly remembered that Friday was Walpurgis Night!
Anyway, this is my attempt at setting the record straight about Pazuzu, and at providing something good and helpful for His worshipers who live today. Working on this has been an incredibly healing experience; I pray that Pazuzu enjoys it, and that others will too.
One time in the 2000s, the Tonester and I were invited to participate in a Pagan meetup down in central Texas. We were so excited, we stayed up all night the previous evening to bake a shit-ton of chocolate chip cookies. Then we put on our best black duds and went to the meetup.
When we arrived, we found we were two of the only three men present, and that everyone else at the meetup was a Wiccan. They took one look at our black clothes and our horned pentagram necklaces and thought we were bad news. And they were really weirded out by the fact that we had made so many chocolate chip cookies. They were like, “Who the hell are these devil worshipers, and why did they bring cookies?”
We tried to make friends and explain what we were all about; but things didn’t go well. As soon as we mentioned Set’s name, we received the standard response: “Isn’t He the bad guy of the Egyptian pantheon? Why would you worship the bad guy?” And when we attempted to explain, we were chastised for “not being Pagan enough.” Everything we told them about Ma’at, isfet, and Set’s war against
Apep sounded “too Christian” to them. They seemed to think we had simply taken Christianity and replaced Jesus with an Egyptian devil-god. They didn’t believe that anything we were talking about had actually originated from Egypt.
After a while, it became clear that we just weren’t welcome (despite the fact that everyone seemed to enjoy our cookies). So we left and went home. We put so much energy into this event, and we really tried our best to be cordial and make friends. But we were treated like creeps, and it was demoralizing. We never went to another Pagan meetup again after that.
The word Pagan comes from the Latin paganus, which means “country dweller.” When the Roman Empire adopted Christianity as its official state religion, pagan was applied to virtually anyone who refused to convert—with the insinuation being that non-Christians were primitive, backward yokels. No one in history ever referred to themselves as a Pagan until after the Industrial Revolution, when artists of the Romantic movement started incorporating ancient polytheist ideas into their work. Since then, Pagan has become a “catch-all” term for various new religious movements that each take their inspiration from nature and ancient mythology in some way (e.g., Wicca, Druidism, Heathenry, Kemeticism, etc.). It does not actually denote any particular theology, philosophy, or creed; it is simply a collective “safe space” for several religious communities that just don’t feel welcome anywhere else.
So when Pagans alienate other Pagans from this “safe space,” it is especially hypocritical. Even Wiccans know what it is like to have people call Child Protection Services on you simply for identifying as a “witch.” You would think, therefore, that they would be a little more sympathetic to other Pagans who struggle with similar prejudices. But in my experience, people generally deal with persecution by trying to shift it on to somebody else. This ugly tendency is every bit as true of Pagans as it is of other religious communities.
Sometimes when people ask about my religion, they get confused because of all the different terms that can be applied to it. I prefer to identify as a Setian, but I can also be described as a Kemetic polytheist. And of course, I include myself beneath the Pagan umbrella (even though certain other Pagans would prefer that I didn’t). But really, Pagan is my least favorite self-label. It can be very useful for networking purposes; but apart from that, it is practically meaningless.
O Dazzling One!
You who were made desolate,
But who never dies!
You who were rejected,
But who always saves the dawn!
Straighten my spine!
Make strong my limbs!
Open my mouth!
You are what makes me to STAND!
You are what makes me to FIGHT!
You are what makes me to SPEAK!
The Serpent strikes me every day,
But I will NOT be stopped!
I will NOT be rendered powerless!
I will NOT be kept silent!
Holy Outlaw! Divine Rebel!
You who lay tyrants to waste!
Put me to Your holy work!
Do not let me stop
Until MA’AT HERSELF
Decrees my descent!
May I never EVER stop
Bringing joy to loved ones
And strangers alike!
May the Serpent TREMBLE
Whenever I pass near!
SO MOTE IT BE!
The LV-426 Tradition of Setianism is a fusion of Kemetic polytheist theology with (Setianized) Western occult practices.
Recently a good friend of mine asked me, “What name do you call what you practice, if it fits into any one religion that has a name?”
The simplest and most direct answer to this question is that I identify as a Setian, a person who reveres and works to emulate Set. Given that Set is central to my entire spiritual life, I am Setian in the same way that Christ followers are Christians, or that Shiva devotees are Shaivites. I therefore think of what I do as a type of Setianism. (For more information on Setianism in general, check out Episode #1 of this series.)
But like the words “Christian” or “Shaivite,” there are some contexts in which the word Setian requires further explanation. Not all Christians or Shaivites believe or practice the same things, and neither do all Setians. I think it’s probably fair to say we are mostly divided into two major groups:
- Setians who are Kemetic polytheists, a term taken from Kemet or “Black Land” (the indigenous name for ancient Egypt). People in this category are more likely to believe Set is actually a real, living force of nature; that He is not “the Egyptian devil”; and that He deserves to be worshiped as a personal deity.
- Setians who are Western occultists, which means they take more of their inspiration from 20th century sources like Aleister Crowley. People in this category are more likely to think Set is somehow “separate from nature”; that He is “completely 100% opposed to Christianity”; and/or that “true” Setians bow to no gods, not even Set.
And then you have people like me who blur the lines between these categories in certain ways. In my case, my theology and values are very much Kemetic; I treat the Netjeru (the Egyptian gods) as literal beings, and I consider ancient Egyptian literature on Set to be more important than anything Kenneth Grant or Michael Aquino ever wrote about Him. Plus, my entire spirituality is aimed at actually revering and making offerings to Set, not on becoming some kind of “black magician.”
But at the same time, my ritual style—the way I specifically express my reverence for Set in ceremony and prayer—is very much influenced by Western occult sources. I was not yet aware of the Kemetic community when I first came to Set; I was only aware of His occultist followers at the time, and their ritual templates were the first to which I was exposed. I found such examples helpful, but could never quite buy into the claims that “worshiping Set is un-Setian” (!) or that “Set is a force ‘against’ nature” (?) or whatever. (This contradicted the fact that Setians in ancient Egypt very clearly did not believe EITHER of those things.) So in 1997, I started xeroxing all the rituals by Crowley and other occult writers I could find at my local library; then I would go home and repurpose these litanies to suit my devotional intentions.
A few years later, my friend the Tonester came to Set and asked for my help in learning how to worship. I showed him how I had been doing things up to that point, and we bonded because neither of us was impressed with the occult community in general. No one we knew who was into this stuff was really interested in worshiping anything but themselves. Many of these same individuals were also manipulative egomaniacs with absolutely zero regard for other people’s mental or emotional well-being. Seeking help or support from anyone was always treated as a “spiritual weakness”—like if you can’t just shake off all that depression or anxiety you’re living with, you can’t be a “real” Setian or something like that. So the Tonester and I both said, “FUCK dem apples; we’ll just start our OWN outfit.” And such is more or less how the LV-426 Tradition of Setianism began, back in 2003.
It wasn’t until sometime in the mid-2000s that I met any Kemetic polytheists or became aware of modern reconstructionist groups like the House of Netjer and the Church of the Eternal Source. Learning of this community really blew my mind; here were all these people who actually believed in worshiping the Egyptian gods, and I hadn’t known about them this whole time! And I was impressed by the sheer amount of empathy that Kemetics just seem to feel for each other in general. Things might be different now than they were in the early 2000s; but back then, to speak of having suicidal feelings in a group of left-hand path occultists was to invite them to shame you into “just feeling better,” “getting up and doing something about it,” and/or “leaving if you can’t take the heat.” But to this day, I still see Kemetics supporting each other emotionally through such terrible struggles—something that anyone who claims to love the Gods of Egypt SHOULD be doing (YES, even if your patron Netjer is SET!). Despite any differences in my ritual style, I would much rather hang out with a bunch of Kemetics for an informal Moomas party than attend something like one of the Temple of Set’s annual conclaves.
In summary, the simplest term for my faith is Setianism; but if we want to get really taxonomical about it, my particular kind of Setianism (LV-426) is a unique fusion of Kemetic polytheist theology with (Setianized) Western occult ritual practices. We do not claim to be following “the one true way” of Set or anything like that; this is just OUR way, and others can take it or leave it. But one thing we LV-426ers will NOT tolerate is being told by any Social Darwinist occultniks that THEIR ways of “being Setian” are somehow more “accurate” or “legitimate” than ours. In absolutely any situation where this ignorant claim might arise, we will be sure to correct people accordingly (and mercilessly).
(To paraphrase Ozzy Osbourne: “Tell me I’m a phony? I got news for you: I spoke to Set this evening, and HE DON’T LIKE YOU!”)
As a final note, the LV-426 Tradition is a private fellowship, and membership is by invitation only. This is not because we want to be a “secret society”; it’s because we treat each other as family, and that is not a dynamic people can just develop by sending us a check and applying to join. It usually takes several years for someone we know personally to even realize they are one of us; then we have to all agree with each other before the candidate can be initiated. Sometimes when you’ve had a really bad week, it feels damn good to sob uncontrollably in the presence of Sutekh and your siblings in Him during one of our Sabbats. And this kind of atmosphere is most successful when there aren’t any “might is right” crotchgoblins around, trying to shame people for having problems and needing support.
But while we are extremely protective of whom we allow into our personal lives, we want to share the magic we’ve worked together so that others may benefit from it too. You don’t even have to join us or pay us to learn how we do things; hell, just read this damn website and take notes! If other Setians find our material useful but would like to make changes, I encourage them to do the same thing I did with Crowley or whomever and tinker with the work as they see fit. While I am in no hurry to expand my own coven, I do hope to hear of more like-minded Setian groups popping up across the globe some day.
A Setian midnight mass performed and recorded for an imaginary AM radio station.
For tonight’s episode of “In the Desert of Set,” we are brought to you live from the First Typhonian Anabaptist Church of Grover’s Mill, Pennsylvania by Hem Sutekh Radio, WZLP AM 770.
We now give you Reverend G.B. Marian, Priest of Set in the LV-426 Tradition, who will now lead tonight’s Midnight Mass.
Happy Holidays from LV-426!
Thoughts on Nehebukau, the holy Snake God, and the concept of Snake People, with an analysis of their appropriation by modern pop culture and conspiracy theorists.
It’s important to understand that snakes are not a universal symbol of “evil” in Kemetic or ancient Egyptian lore. Actually they are more like angels, a special class of preternatural being. There are good snakes like Wadjet and Meretseger who serve Atum-Ra the Creator; and there are also bad snakes that serve
Apep and who seek to disintegrate all things. One story of Nehebukau is that He was originally one of the bad snakes; but this was only because of a pinched nerve in His spine that was hurting Him real bad, making Him terribly grouchy. Eventually, Ra healed Nehebukau by touching His back and fixing that nerve, and the latter has been a good and holy snake ever since, working Ma’at and assisting sentient beings through their various kheperu or transformations in life and the afterlife (what might be called a “shedding of skins”). In this way, Nehebukau fits right in with some of the other gods I hold most dear. Like Set and Taweret, He’s kind of like a monster that learned to be better, and who is in a very unique position to empathize with humans in our struggles against isfet.
To be clear: when I refer to “the Snake God,” I am referring to Nehebukau, and not to the monster
Apep. When I refer to “the Chaos Serpent,” the situation is reversed. The distinction here is that Nehebukau is a proper god or Netjer, while Apep is more like an “ungod.” If it confuses anyone that I would use “snake” and “serpent” in different ways like this, just remember the comparison to angels above. Nehebukau is no mere angel (and neither is Apep for that matter), but one might say Nehebukau is a Snake God in the same way that Gabriel is a “holy angel,” while Apep is a Chaos Serpent in the same way that Satan is a “fallen angel.” There are additional good male snake gods among the Netjeru as well (e.g., Geb, Mehen, etc.); but as I have not personally interacted with any of them myself, Nehebukau is the particular Netjer I mean to invoke when I write “Snake God” in capital letters.
Prior to collaborating with Setken on Hymn To The Soul Serpent (Hymn To Nehebukau), I don’t recall actually being that cognizant of Nehebukau before. I recall seeing Him in Egyptian art in His winged, double-headed serpent form from time to time; but it wasn’t until my exposure to Setken’s artistry that I remember seeing the Snake God depicted in a humanoid form (as exemplified in Setken’s Study For The Netjeru!: Nehebukau). Apart from just being really fucking beautiful, Setken’s paintings spoke to something buried deep within the furthest regions of my memory. It was not until we were almost ready to release Hymn to the Soul Serpent that I suddenly realized just what these sacred icons were actually reminding me of.
(When Setken first proposed the Hymn to the Soul Serpent project to me, I mistook him for saying “Nekhebet,” and I immediately started studying footage of vultures for inspiration. When I realized my mistake, I apologized to to Nehebukau profusely, even though I am reasonably certain He wasn’t actually offended. But perhaps some kind of project for Nekhebet might be on the horizon!)
This is probably going to get me into trouble (more on this later), but I’ve had a fascination with the idea of reptile people for as long as I can remember. I think my first exposure to this was from watching He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. I also collected the dolls (or “action figures,” if it really bothers other men so much), and my absolute favorites were the Snake Men. King Hiss looked like a normal dude, but his entire torso came apart to reveal his true form as a writhing mass of vipers. Tung Lashor had a super-long poison tongue that came rocketing out of his mouth when you operated the button on his back. And Rattlor’s neck could extend with quite some force, rendering him somewhat hazardous around children’s eyeballs. These characters were not featured in the He-Man cartoons, but the dolls came with miniature comic books that explained their background stories and such.
According to the comic that came with King Hiss, the Snake Men are native to He-Man’s homeworld, Eternia, and they controlled a powerful empire long before the reign of King Randor. They were banished to some alternate dimension, but the evil wizard Skeletor found a way to bring them back. Thanks to He-Man, Skeletor only succeeded in facilitating the return of three Snake Men: King Hiss, Tung Lashor, and Rattlor. The Snake Men then launched a campaign to return the rest of their kind to Eternia, so they could invade and enslave humanity once more.
Is any of this starting to sound familiar to you yet? In Episode #10 of this series, I discuss one of my least favorite anti-Setian tropes in popular culture: the theme of an “evil snake god” called “Set” who was banished to an alternate dimension, who has legions of “Serpent Men” under his command, and who seeks to return and invade the world of human beings. This theme originates from the short fantasy fiction of Robert E. Howard (creator of Conan the Cimmerian and Kull the Conqueror), and it gained even more traction when Marvel Comics was licensed to adapt Howard’s fiction into its own fictional universe in the 1970s. Since then, the “Set and His evil Serpent Men” trope has emerged in countless cartoons, movies, role-playing games, and science fiction TV shows. He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, with its Snake Men and their tyrannical King Hiss, just happens to be the most obvious example of this trend.
One thing I disliked about He-Man was the fact that these Snake Men were bad guys. I have always loved snakes, especially the non-lethal ones like garter snakes, and I always thought it would be neat if these characters could have been heroes instead. I remember imagining my own Saturday morning cartoon shows where the heroes were all benevolent Snake People (with badass edgy names like Queen Hissteria and Big Bad Mamba), and the bad guys were just normal-looking humans. Curiously, the animated He-Man series does feature another race of snake people, the Reptons, who are peaceful and kind. (One of them, Kobra Khan, is one of Skeletor’s goons; but the show makes it clear that Khan is just a bad egg, and the rest of the Reptons are cool.) But when it comes to stories that add a little more dimension to this concept than what I usually expect, my life changed forever when I saw Doctor Who.
No, I’m not talking about the newer Who series that’s been in production since 2005. I speak to you of those lost long days when the only way you could catch Doctor Who here in the States was by watching PBS and sitting through all those passive aggressive pledge drives they used to do, where they’d threaten us with no Doctor Who ever again if we didn’t call in to buy that nifty coffee mug with the disappearing TARDIS. During the Jon Pertwee years, there were two serials that dealt with the theme of reptile people specifically: The Silurians and The Sea Devils, written by Malcolm Hulke. In the first of these adventures, the Doctor (who is currently stuck on earth with an inoperative TARDIS) learns there was another intelligent species that ruled this planet long before humans evolved from apes. These reptile people are not aliens, but native to earth. They went into hibernation deep underground when their advanced astronomy detected the incoming comet that eventually wiped out the dinosaurs. Their machines were supposed to awaken them shortly after the disaster, but a malfunction caused them to remain in suspended animation until they were accidentally revived by human nuclear testing during the 1970s.
Having resurfaced, the reptile people are understandably distressed to find their planet invaded by ultraviolent hairless apes. Some of them are willing to try and co-exist with us peacefully, and the Doctor tries his best to facilitate an arrangement to this effect. But racists on both the human and reptilian sides of this dispute eventually stifle this hope, with the reptiles unleashing their biological warfare upon us, and the humans bombing all the rest of their hibernation chambers. In the second of these serials, the Doctor encounters another tribe of reptile people who belong to an aquatic subspecies, and the whole thing starts all over again. (Things are made even worse this time by the Master, played by Roger Delgado, who actively seeks to escalate the conflict between humans and reptilians.) Doctor Who lore is curiously divided as to how the reptilian characters in these stories are to be identified, but when I was a kid at least, I always went by the Malcolm Hulke novelizations, which refer to the land-dwelling reptilians as Silurians and their oceanic cousins as Sea Devils.
I remember CRYING a lot whenever I watched these episodes of Doctor Who, to the point that my parents were concerned I was actually scared and would have nightmares. But while I did find this stuff disturbing, it wasn’t because it was scary; it was because it was sad. I thought the Silurians and the Sea Devils were cool, and I wanted things to work out so that everybody can share this planet together and get along. I will admit that I was very young at the time, and I didn’t yet grasp that this was all just make-believe. But I also remember that when I got a little older and I first learned about some of the colonialist atrocities that have been (and still are) perpetuated against Native Americans, my initial reaction was to reflect back on Malcolm Hulke’s stories and the profound emotional reactions they invoked in me. The difference, though, is that THIS WAS FUCKING REAL, it ACTUALLY HAPPENED, it is most certainly NOT make-believe. And learning THAT horrible truth (in addition to others) has kept me awake at night far more than any scary TV show ever could. (Somehow, I sense that if I could ask Malcolm Hulke about this today, he would tell me this was exactly his point in writing these awesome stories.)
Incidentally, the Silurians and Sea Devils return in a few later Doctor Who adventures, but Malcolm Hulke had nothing to do with these serials, and I am not really a fan. In the 1983 episode Warriors of the Deep, the Fifth Doctor (Peter Davison) ends up wiping out two combined tribes of terrestrial and aquatic reptilians all at once. Sure, Davison makes a fantastic Doctor, and he clearly doesn’t WANT to commit genocide against the reptilians; but he does it anyway, and it’s gross, and there is no text or subtext about colonialism anywhere to be seen. It’s just “We gotta kill the people with animal heads so the humans can live.” This leaves the whole story feeling way too hollow and mean-spirited for my tastes.
Decades later, the new Doctor Who series re-introduced the Silurians during the Matt Smith era. These episodes deal with Malcolm Hulke’s creations much more respectfully, and I really enjoy the idea of a badass lady Silurian living in Victorian England and kicking hiney to help the Doctor save the world and stuff. I believe they even wrote it that at some point in Earth’s future history, humans and reptilians really do learn to co-exist. This is definitely a major victory as far as my inner child is concerned; but I just can’t stand the new makeup design for the Silurians. Old Silurians (and Sea Devils) actually look like people with reptile heads, much like the Serpent Men from Conan and the Snake Men from Masters of the Universe. The new versions are really just people with reptile skin, and they don’t resemble the beloved creatures from my childhood enough to resonate. Still, I do enjoy the fact that Doctor Who‘s reptile people have at least been vindicated in terms of their collective story arc after all these years.
Another show in which Robert E. Howard’s Serpent Men resurface is Hasbro’s G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero. In the 1987 animated film adaptation of the popular cartoon series, it is revealed that the international terrorist organization Cobra is really just a front for an ancient civilization called Cobra-La, which of course was populated by Snake People. These reptilians naturally seek to reclaim what they perceive to be their stolen earth, and the entire history of Cobra as a human totalitarian human regime is really just one more phase in their long game.
I don’t remember owning any G.I. Joe dolls, but I remember really enjoying the cartoon and its huge ensemble of diverse and fairly well-developed characters (especially my first true love, the Baroness Anastasia Cisarovna). But imagine my surprise when I learned that Cobra wasn’t actually created by Hasbro, which launched the toyline. Rather, it was “invented” by Marvel Comics, which was commissioned to write a story for Hasbro when it re-launched its catalogue in the 1980s. The writers at Marvel pointed out that the heroes needed some villains to fight if there were going to be any story worth telling; and for lack of any better alternative, they more or less cloned the concept of Hydra—the terrorist organization battled by superhero teams like the Avengers—and re-named it “Cobra.”
Like Cobra, Hydra was originally founded by ancient reptilians, who later infiltrated human governments for their own purposes, including that of Nazi Germany. Then there’s the fact that many of Hydra’s most infamous members are named after snakes in one way or another, including Viper/Madame Hydra, Gorgon, Anaconda, etc. But there’s an extra layer here: the Serpent Men who founded Hydra turn out to be the very same Serpent Men who serve the “evil snake god” Set in Howard’s Kull and Conan tales. This bastardization of Set has even appeared throughout Marvel Comics as an actual character for superheroes like the Avengers to fight. This is ironic given that the real Egyptian god Set also makes a personal appearance in an episode of G.I. Joe; but as discussed in Episode #10, G.I. Joe was much much closer to the mark! Its version of Set doesn’t appear to be involved with the civilization of Cobra-La, either.
Now I must return to my earlier point about how writing about all of this will probably get me into some trouble with some people. (It’s okay, I don’t really care—this is all for Nehebukau, to whom I shall return in just a moment!) I am sure readers in the know are already chomping at the bit for me to touch on reptilian humanoid conspiracy theories and the bizarre subcultures they have bred in real life. I’m referring of course to the belief some people have that there are actual reptilians living among us here on earth. These people mostly take their cue from the exact same source: David Icke, a pseudoscientist and total huckster. Since the late 1990’s, Icke has popularized this belief that reptilians from a planet orbiting Alpha Draconis invaded our planet way back in ancient times. They were mistakenly worshiped as “gods” by “wayward” people like the ancient Egyptians, and they continue to infiltrate modern human governments (including the entire Bush family, no less). Furthermore, this ancient alien reptile conspiracy is supposed to kidnap little children and drain them of their spinal fluid so it can be fed to Hillary Clinton, who is herself alleged to be a reptilian warlord in disguise. (Icke even manages to tie his evil reptilians together with Nazi Germany somehow, which explains the trope of Adolf Hitler secretly floating around the Arctic in submarines with reptile people.)
There are so many things wrong with David Icke’s bullshit, it’s impossible for me to address each particular grievance in today’s sermon. But my most immediate critiques are that Icke’s take on ancient civilizations is hopelessly racist; his encouragement of secularized Satanic Panic nonsense is absolutely deporable; and worst of all, domestic terrorists have adopted his anti-reptilian routine, trying to assassinate politicians they believe are reptilians. Yet there is something else wrong with all of this that should hopefully be CRYSTAL fucking clear by this point, given everything I have already explained above:
It’s ALL fiction, and NONE of it is original.
Robert E. Howard made a lot of this crap up back in the 1920s. Then Marvel Comics came along and made up some more in the 1970s. Then a bunch of Saturday morning cartoons boosted the signal for it during the 1980s. And of course there have been countless other science fiction authors and media properties that have played around with the concept in one way or another. David Icke never wrote any of his conspiracy theory bullshit until the late 1990s, by which point the meme had already been well established in popular culture. So it’s pretty fucking clear that he plagiarized his entire routine from a bunch of cartoons and comic books. And the assholes who are willing to kill people over this shit are really doing it for nothing.
Here’s the thing: I do not actively believe there are any reptilian humanoids living on this earth, or at least not in the sense of “ancient aliens” (more on this below). I’m not saying it isn’t possible; I just haven’t found any evidence to substantiate such an idea. But even if I did, I would quicker assume such entities are just as native to this world as we are, and that they have just as much right to be here as we do. I don’t believe any of this nonsense about aliens controlling human governments; human beings are the single most dangerous creatures on this planet, we don’t need extraterrestrials to make us any better at wreaking havoc. If there ARE any Snake People around, they’re probably HIDING from us because they’re fucking SCARED TO DEATH of us!
And to assume that an entire sentient race would be inherently evil simply because it evolved from reptiles is, to call a spade a spade, racist. WE evolved from motherfucking APES, and apes do some pretty fucked-up shit you know. Maybe it’s just because I grew up learning important lessons about these things from Captain Jean-Luc Picard; but I see no reason to assume a civilized reptilian people would be any worse at respecting Ma’at or fighting isfet than civilized simian peoples apparently are. (I can already read the emails from Icke’s zombie followers, skewering me for being some dumb, deluded PR boy for the Visitors who want to eat me and my family!)
The thing is, there are other people who believe in real reptilians so to speak, and who hold more sensible views about them than anything offered by David Icke. The most prevalent example of this would be Hindu, Buddhist, and other Asian religious belief systems that acknowledge the Nagas. These semi-divine creatures can appear as snakes, people, or any variety of human/serpentine hybrid. They are believed to have pre-existed humans, and while they can be good or evil just like us, most of them appear to be dutiful servants of the Devas (the Hindu gods). They enjoy living in rivers, lakes, oceans and raindrops, and they guard all kinds of ancient knowledge and treasures. Though they are not necessarily gods, the Nagas are often venerated with offerings, which helps to attract good fortune. Much of this is echoed in Chinese folk beliefs about dragons, as well. Lóng or Chinese dragons are also shapeshifters who can appear human and who bring good luck to those who show them the proper gratitude and respect.
I first learned about the Nagas not from a textbook or a cartoon show, but from my best friend in second grade, a boy named Pawan. Pawan and his family were Indian American immigrants and deeply observant Hindus. I remember seeing various images of the Devas whenever I visited their apartment. I do not recall which sect or tradition Pawan and his family might have followed (and being only eight years old or so, I lacked the head space to even formulate such a question at the time). But I remember asking Pawan’s mother to tell me about the Nagas, and she seemed really happy to share some stories with me. It must have been crazy to have this weird little white boy from next door take such a genuine interest in her family’s culture and heritage!
But then I would go home and tell my parents about this stuff. For some reason, they were only okay with such beliefs as long as it was Pawan and his family practicing them. I received every indication that it is only acceptable for white people to be Christians and believe in one god, even though neither of my parents has ever been a committed religious believer of any kind. Much later I would meet some of David Icke’s followers (most of whom are white), who insisted to me that both Naga and Lóng veneration is really just another part of the evil reptilian plot to murder children and keep the world hypnotized. When these people claim that Asians are actually venerating evil demons or aliens—or if they suggest that such religious traditions are “beneath” white people for any reason—they are blatantly endorsing Christian white supremacism; full stop.
Furthermore, neither the Nagas nor the Lóng are space aliens that ride around in spaceships. There are no tales about them eating people or operating any nefarious shadow governments. They are nature spirits and religious figures, not science fiction monsters. The same is true of other Snake People who are acknowledged in other cultures too, including African Mami Wata spirits and Native American horned serpents. This begs the question: could the ancient Egyptians have believed in something similar? There doesn’t appear to be any specific term in Egyptian for “serpent man” or “snake person” (or at least not that I have found just yet); but perhaps this would have been redundant. The Egyptians appear to have regarded normal, everyday snakes as sentient creatures with magical powers. How else could serpents be held accountable to Ma’at, with the good snakes serving Ra and the evil snakes following
Apep? This distinction makes little sense, at least to me, unless we stop to consider that maybe snakes are actually people too!
Which helps me circle back to the Netjeru. It is curious that I never felt drawn to any particular Egyptian snake deities until Setken first proposed that we collaborate on his Hymn to the Soul Serpent project together. Only then did it occur to me that everything I ever needed to justify my enthusiasm for snakes (whether as animals, sentient beings, or magical anthropoids) is already included in the belief system I already follow. And when I laid eyes on Setken’s humanoid portrayals of Nehebukau, I was taken back to those far-off days when I would play with my Snake Men dolls; when I would weep over the Silurians and the Sea Devils; when I secretly rooted for Cobra or Hydra as reptilian freedom fighters; and when I listened to Pawan’s mother explain to me about the Nagas. Could it be that Nehebukau was looking in on me even back then, thinking, “This is the kid I want to co-write a song for Me someday”? Could it have been His double-headed wisdom that helped me see through all of David Icke’s bullshit when it was first presented to me? Hell; I reckon Set and Nehebukau probably both had all of this arranged somehow before I was even born!
Writing one song isn’t all I think I am meant to do, either. I think Nehebukau has probably put all of this stuff into my brain for some kind of purpose, and I mean to put it to use somehow. This very likely means another album will soon be in the works. I always wanted to make movies when I grew up; and failing that, I enjoy adapting some of my old story pitches from childhood into “soundtracks” for films that don’t exist (as with Summer’s End and His Nocturnal Majesty, with which I am very happy). I’ve successfully introduced the crimefighting mummy Het-Sem-Peckinpah to the world, as well as the mysterious Knights In Sutekh’s Service. Now that my Halloween and apocalypse “movies” have been taken care of, so to speak, perhaps it is time to revisit my old sword-and-sorcery “movie” pitch as well. It could be that Queen Hissteria, Big Bad Mamba, and other Saurian Warriors of Basilisk Basilica will soon be making an appearance…
One Setian’s take on ancient Egyptian concepts of the self—including our bodies, souls, spirits, hearts, shadows, names, and the hope for unification of these features into a multidimensional whole after death.
The way I read the Heliopolitan cosmogony at least, human beings are not creations or playthings of the Netjeru (gods); we are their younger and less powerful relatives, a race of living demigods. As discussed in Episode #19, every sentient being can be considered an avatar or incarnation of Atum-Ra, the Creator. This is evident from the fact that people can use heka (magic or spirituality) to work Ma’at (truth, balance, order, and interconnectedness) against isfet (falsehood, toxicity, injustice, and disintegration), just as the gods do. But while the gods work Ma’at together up at their higher, more cosmic levels of existence, it is our responsibility to work Ma’at here on earth as their mortal counterparts. In this way, the war between the Netjeru and
Apep or other powers of isfet is reflected in even the most mundane human struggles against evil, no matter how small or mundane they might seem.
Given this, it is important to understand what it actually means to be the Great He-She incarnate. It is not a license to just do whatever we want; for even the gods aren’t perfect, and any mistakes they make could have cataclysmic consequences for everyone (including themselves). The same is equally true of people, who run around wasting natural resources, splitting atoms, and unleashing terrible pollution and plagues upon this world. We have such remarkable power and potential, but we have so little patience for delay of gratification that we have fucked up the planet and each other well beyond measure. If we do not want our world to fall apart, we must each take responsibility like the gods do by upholding Ma’at and abjuring isfet. This is not just a call to behave ethically, but a real spiritual battle, a lifelong magical quest. Both here and in Duat (the Spirit World), the best way to help ourselves is by helping others, and the best way to destroy ourselves is by destroying others.
The ancient Egyptians believed the human self consists of several multidimensional components. The following is neither an exhaustive list nor a definitive explanation of what these components actually are; it is simply how I conceptualize them personally, at least at present. While I like to think I know my stuff when it comes to Set, I really can’t claim to be an “expert” on Kemetic Soul Anatomy. I therefore reserve the right to adjust my opinions on these topics as I acquire more knowledge over time.
I should also clarify that I am not a Kemetic reconstructionist exactly. My walk with Set is definitely influenced by Kemetic sources, but I have also been deeply influenced by Western occultism, which has been known to take some mighty big liberties with Egyptian thought. (Just look at Thelema.) LV-426 Setians like me are probably every bit as eclectic in our approach to the Other Side as most Western occultists are; but we also pride ourselves on being crystal clear about what is actually “Kemetic” and what is not. That being said, I am not prepared to claim that what I have written about the Egyptian concept of the self below is 100% authentically Kemetic; these are just my own thoughts on the matter (such as they may be), so take from them what you will.
The most obvious component of the self is the physical body, which the Egyptians called the khat. Images are magical windows to alternate universes, and there is no greater image for the self than one’s very own material form. In the West we tend to dissociate ourselves from our bodies all the time, but this ontological dualism does not exist so much in Kemetic belief. To me at least, it is more a matter of the body being a “seed” in which our incorporeal aspects are fundamentally rooted. We aren’t souls born into bodies; we are bodies from whence souls sprout! So essential is the khat to the self’s existence that its preservation was deemed absolutely critical to having a pleasant afterlife; hence the tradition of mummification. For those whose corpses are lost or destroyed, new images can be created to serve as magical surrogates (statues, drawings, etc.).
I think even the Netjeru have khatu or physical bodies; it’s just that their blood and bones are in plants, animals, the elements, and other natural phenomena. When we see their actual flesh, we think we are just observing weather patterns, seasonal changes, or astronomical events; but our ecosystem is just as alive with soul and spirit as we are. It is when we grasp this principle that we can actually peek beyond the Veil and into Duat. There are also tales of the Netjeru having lived right here on earth with literal bodies as we understand them (and with flesh made of gold and bones made of silver, to boot). There is a point in Egyptian mythology where the history of the world transitions from being linear to becoming cyclical. When the gods still walked this earth, time was linear, with events unfolding between the Netjeru from beginning to middle to end; but when the gods ascended to the heavens, nature switched to following cyclical time. What were once linear events for the gods are now cyclical events that we experience here on earth over and over again as the seasons, the human reproductive cycle, etc.
In our Western vernacular, little distinction is ever made between the concepts of “soul” and “spirit.” These terms are used interchangeably in any number of different contexts, but I prefer to differentiate between the two as carefully as I can. The Egyptians distinguished between the ba and the ka, which I use as my benchmarks on this matter. The ba, represented as a human-headed bird, was conceived as the innermost personality of a sentient being, which is how I tend to conceptualize “the soul.” The ka, represented as a doppelganger that follows a person throughout their entire life, is more like a secondary, invisible body that individual can use to interact with things in Duat. This is more or less what I mean when I refer to “the spirit.” So your soul is like the part of you that consistently stays the same, no matter how much you might kheper or transform over time. Your spirit is more like the part of you that can touch or be touched by gods and other spirits (living or discarnate).
There is also a story about the god Khnum sculpting the bodies and spirits of unborn children on his potter’s wheel, then placing them within the wombs of expectant mothers. This is such a powerful image; it evokes how the ka is like a twin version of yourself that occupies the exact same points in time and space that you do, but in a slightly different dimension you might say. Heka or magic is the art of learning to use your ka or spirit to create change, as opposed to implementing more conventional physical methods. For example, the logic behind a healing spell (as I see it at least) is that you are basically sending regenerative vibes to the recipient’s spirit from your own, which will hopefully heighten the recipient’s chances for a speedy recovery. Even a thoughtful “Get Well” card can be an incredibly magical act in this regard, for it is literally a matter of trying to “lift” the other person’s spirit.
This applies to when we have spiritual experiences with gods or ancestors, too. Whenever I have a vision of Set, for example, I think of it as a matter of Set’s spirit interacting with mine, not of me actually seeing a literal Sha-headed man with my physical eyes. We physically observe Set with the eyes of our khatu all the time whenever we observe thunderstorms, donkeys, the Big Dipper, or even people with red hair. But when we bear witness to Set in ways that most people would call “supernatural,” we are actually seeing one or more of the kau or spiritual bodies of the god—and we are seeing these kau with the eyes of our own kau as well.
Each of the holy Netjeru has multiple bau or souls as well. The way I read it, this speaks to how there are really multiple universes, infinite timelines brought forth from the Big Bang, that moment when the First Netjer awakened and determined themself. In some realities, that Netjer determined themself as Atum-Ra; in others, they determined themself as Ptah, Amun, Neith, etc. (There might even be a universe where Set is the Creator!) There is probably some other dimension where I’m gay and married to one of my best male friends. Or maybe I’m a woman who lives alone in the woods somewhere with a passel of cats. Maybe I’m a hip crime fighter in one world, and a devious supervillain in another. Whomever and whatever I might be in whichever reality we care to consider, I think of these alternate personalities as my various bau or souls; they may be different versions of me, but they are all still me. (Just like Doctor Who is still the Doctor, whether they are being played by Jon Pertwee or Jodie Whittaker.)
Another core component of the self in Kemetic thought is the ib or “heart,” by which the Egyptians meant the literal bodily organ (as opposed to a purely figurative concept of “heart,” like in Captain Planet or something). Advanced as they were, the ancient Egyptians didn’t realize the brain is the body part that enables us to think; they identified the heart as serving this function instead. It was considered to be the seat of a person’s consciousness, as well as the part of their body where their khat and their ka are connected.
When a person’s ib or heart stopped, the khat, ba, and ka were all separated. The spirit would remain with the corpse while the soul was guided by Anubis or another psychopomp to the Hall of Judgment in Duat. There the soul underwent the Weighing of the Heart, which meant the person was judged for all of their deeds and misdeeds in life—a thing for which only sentient beings with hearts (or in our culture, brains) can be held responsible for. If the person’s heart was too heavy with isfet, they were deemed unfit for the afterlife and fed to the daemon Ammut or cast into a lake of fire. Back on earth, the spirit withered away and died; or it could become restless and terrorize the living as an evil ghost. But if a person’s heart was more or less in good standing with Ma’at, their ba and their ka were reunited by the gods, transforming the deceased into an Akh or Imperishable One.
An Akh is also united with what the Egyptians called the shut or khaibit (the “shadow”). The “shadow” in this context is literal, referring to those black shapes our bodies cast on walls or the ground whenever we stand in the light. Our shadows are not just apparitions, but living parts of ourselves; we create them without even thinking about it, and a part of us exists in them and is reflected in them. In the exact same way, a person can exist in other things they intentionally create as well, like songs, paintings, photographs, works of literature, etc. This is exactly why the Egyptians built so many monuments and wrote down so much of their knowledge and history. To preserve their culture in so meticulous a manner has not only been a benefit for modern archaeologists in piecing together the Kemetic worldview; it has also helped the ancient Egyptians live on and continue influencing people today. This applies to when we look at photos or read letters from our departed loved ones, as well; art and literature do in fact help us live on after death, and I think it is our shutu or shadows that probably benefit from such creative work specifically.
Names, or renu in ancient Egyptian, are also significant dimensions of the self. This includes not only our birth names, but any titles, nicknames, and other names we might be given or choose for ourselves as well. Each of the gods has various names by which they are known, and the same is true of us. Names are living extensions of ourselves that carry a real, lasting power of their own; for though they are long dead, we still speak the names of Hatshepsut, Joan of Arc, Princess Diana, and other blessed ancestors in regular conversation today. Doing so helps to keep this aspect of the self alive after death. There is also a story in which the goddess Isis tricks Atum-Ra into giving her their true secret name, which only Ra had known up to that point. By learning the true unknown name of Ra, Isis becomes the most powerful goddess, magician, and woman of all time.
Conversely, the Egyptians defaced or erased the names of people and things they wanted to write out of history and existence. This is what happened to the Heretic King, Akhenaten (born Amenhotep IV), who prioritized the new religion of Atenism over his duty to be a good and responsible leader. His name was removed from various monuments after his death in an attempt to forget that this particular ruler even existed. This is also why modern Kemetics generally write the name of
Apep in strikeout text. Simply writing the name is not good enough, because it can actually attract the monster’s attention to ourselves. Writing its name in strikeout text serves as a way for us to communicate about the rotten bastard without actually evoking it into our lives.
It is not exactly clear what happens when a deceased person passes the Weighing of the Heart and is transformed into an Akh. But I imagine that person would be united with themself across both this world (as a corpse and a spirit) and the Other Side (as a soul), as well as with their various names and any objects in which their shadows might reside (photos, diaries, etc.). I also imagine they would be united with all the possible variations of their soul that might exist across the vast multiplicity of universes. Akhu are said to reside with the Netjeru in Duat, but there are actually many different heavens included there. I think Akhu are free to visit either of these various realms, but they are also free to visit the living and travel to alternate realities as well. This mobility of the Akhu between universes is remarkable when compared to other religious teachings about the soul after death. I can’t even begin to grasp what such an existence might be like; but I think it probably isn’t that far removed from how the people of the “Q Continuum” exist in Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987–1994).
The Egyptians also referred to additional facets of the self, but our knowledge of what these things actually are is unclear. There is something called sekhem, which translates to mean “power” or “form.” This could be referring to the latent magical power that exists within each of us as unique incarnations of Ra; but I am really just guessing. It is tempting to compare sekhem with what Chinese folk medicine calls qi or “chi”: a vital life force or energy flow that can be used to guide exercises and reinforce medical treatments. It might also be similar to Japanese Reiki, a form of alternative medicine that involves energy healing.
There is also something called a sahu, which seems to be an additional spiritual body that is generated for the deceased during their funerary rites. It is not evident how this feature should be distinguished from the ka or spirit exactly, except perhaps that the ka exists from birth while the sahu doesn’t. I have heard it said that the state of sahu is probably closest to how the Netjeru experience their own existence; but the concept remains unclassifiable nevertheless. Rather than try to pontificate on things for which there is currently so little available evidence, I simply accept that there are no clear answers to this particular question at present.
For now at least, it is enough for me to know I am a body with a soul, a spirit, a heart, a shadow, and a name. There are many different versions of me that exist in all kinds of different universes, too. When I die, I hope to be found worthy of the afterlife during the Weighing of my Heart. I hope for all the pieces of my self to be re-united so I can become an Akh and get up to some shenanigans with other Akhu out in Set’s Desert, beyond the Great Bear. And I hope that when I get there, I’ll meet Ronnie James Dio and we can go smite some monsters of isfet together!
My good friend, the artist Setken, has directed a mini-documentary about the Egyptian praying mantis god, Abyt. Setken asked me to compose some music for the film, and I was very happy to oblige. I’m also happy to announce that Setken’s film has been selected by the Anatolian Short Film Festival for September 2020. Follow the link below to watch the documentary and vote for the film!
And if you enjoy the music in the film, you can also stream or download it for free by clicking the image below:
We sincerely hope that everyone enjoys this work – especially Abyt Himself! Dua Abyt!
The sister and ex-wife of Set is a renowned healer of wounded hearts and minds.
Even more than Ishtar or Taweret, Nephthys is the goddess who is most often linked with Set. In fact, some people might be wondering why it’s taken me 40 whole episodes before I got around to discussing Her. Truth is, I wanted to highlight the aforementioned goddesses first because Their interactions with Set are far less known. I also think Set and Nephthys share a much more complex relationship than what is typically imagined about god and goddess couples, for reasons I shall explain.
The name of this goddess, which comes from the Egyptian Nebet-Het, means “Lady of the House.” It refers to a temple enclosure, rather than a domestic residence. In the Heliopolitan cosmogony, Nephthys is one of the fourth generation of Netjeru (the others being Osiris, Isis, Set, and even Horus in some accounts). As such, She is one of the divinities who facilitate life here on earth, and who contributes to the arts of human civilization.
The fourth generation of gods was somewhat disruptive to the natural order of things at first. There is even a story about Ra, the first Netjer, prohibiting their granddaughter, the sky goddess Nut, from giving birth to these young’uns (despite already being pregnant). Thankfully, the wise god Thoth finds a technicality that allows Nut to have her children while still technically obeying Ra’s decree. So first it was just Ra, and all things were united in them. Then Ra begat Shu and Tefnut, the breath and the waters of life, who are the first male and female. After that, Shu and Tefnut begat another male and female, Nut and Geb, the deities of heaven and earth. While Ra themself is hermaphroditic, the second and third theological generations are dichotomous, falling into a strict gender binary that is strongly tied to the reproductive cycle.
Reproduction becomes a major theme for the fourth generation of Netjeru as well, but in a radically different way. For one thing, there are not just two deities in this generation, but at least four (if not five, depending on whether you choose to include Horus—but more on that in a moment). Only two of these figures—Isis and Osiris—are a fertile heteronormative couple, and they become the darlings of the pantheon for this reason. Set and Nephthys are sterile and barren, incapable of producing any offspring. Set is also attracted to gods of the same sex, and there is reason to think the same might be true of Nephthys. While Isis and Osiris are like celebrities, receiving all the glory and the privilege from their elders, everybody tries to forget about Set and Nephthys in the beginning, pairing Them together and leaving Them to fend for Themselves.
The way I see it, this is what sets the entire Osirian drama into motion. More than anything, Nephthys—sometimes described as “an imitation woman with no vagina”—wants to have a child; She wants to experience all the same parts of womanhood that Isis enjoys. So She disguises Herself as Isis and sleeps with Osiris, who is so miraculously fertile, he could even impregnate a corpse. Nephthys then gives birth to Anubis, the jackal god, and tries to hide Him so Set won’t find out what happened. But Set learns the truth and loses His temper big time. Instead of trying to harm Nephthys or Anubis, however, He squashes Osiris instead (twice, in fact). Then Isis goes on her journey to raise Osiris from the dead. She succeeds, sleeps with her brother-husband one last time before he goes to Duat, and becomes pregnant with Horus. (This is where the question of when Horus is born comes up again. I prefer to place it here at this point in the narrative, as it makes the most thematic sense to me personally; but there are other versions of the same narrative that cite Nut as the mother of Horus. Just one more example of how the ancient Egyptians were way ahead of quantum physicists or science fiction writers when it comes to the idea of alternate universes.) Nephthys dutifully accompanies Isis through all of this insanity, helping Her sister every step of the way.
This is especially the case when it comes to the funeral of Osiris; and here is where Nephthys’ innermost drive becomes most evident. She and Her son Anubis help Isis reconstruct the body of Osiris and restore him to life. Through much of this process, Nephthys weeps and wails and whimpers with Isis, empathizing with the widowed goddess and sharing in her profound sorrow. The Egyptians prayed to Nephthys as a kind of “dark midwife” you might say, a divine grief counselor who assists those in terrible emotional anguish, helping them heal and feel better over time. This fits together with the role of Anubis, who invents the funerary arts and becomes the first mortician. Nobody enjoys experiencing death or loss, but they are facts of life, and those of us who survive must find a way to live again. To think that Nephthys and Anubis have always been there to nurture things that help us cope with such experiences (such as counseling or mortuary science) makes my heart glow like a jack-o’lantern.
Nephthys sides with the Osirian Trinity during the Contendings of Horus and Set, and She sticks with them for the most part after the Great Reconciliation. She continues associating with Big Red when it comes to fighting the Chaos Serpent, and She appears to have been revered as a powerful fire-breathing warrior in this regard. But the one member of the Divine Family Nephthys truly seems to have fallen in love with is Isis. To make things even more interesting, other cosmogonies have cited Set as being Anubis’ father; the two are often linked (or even outright confused with each other) even today.
None of what I say next should be treated as any kind of official religious dogma. This is just what I personally take from these wonderful stories, and you can either take it or leave it. But I think Nephthys is a lesbian goddess. I think She and Set still love each other; They have just always loved each other as brother and sister for the most part. They are divorced, but for good reason; They were never very attracted to each other in the first place. Isis and Osiris are married because they love each other; Set and Nephthys were paired together as an afterthought to make the rest of the pantheon happy. This refusal to properly integrate the forms of life and being that Set and Nephthys represent is what almost caused the downfall of Creation, and the apocalypse was only averted when the Netjeru got wise as a society and changed their ways. Now these two outcasts are truly accepted by Their family as equals, and Set has even grown to love Anubis and become His stepdad.
This trinity of Set, Nephthys, and Anubis is truly remarkable for many reasons. A divorced pansexual genderbending dad, a barren lesbian spinster mom, and a so-called “illegitimate” stepchild born of “adultery”? What isn’t there to love about this, or the fact that these figures were considered acceptable and divine in ancient Egyptian culture? The Western patriarchal concept of “the nuclear family”—which insists that all families must consist of two heteronormative cisgender adults with 2.3 biological offspring born in wedlock—is not only a more recent invention in the grand scheme of things, but a blatant work of isfet (poisonous falsehood and injustice) that contradicts Ma’at (everlasting goodness and truth). There is a place for EVERY sentient being in this world, AND for the sentient beings they love too. It simply DOES NOT MATTER whether we are male or female, gay or straight, trans or cisgender, married or unmarried, monogamous or non-monogamous, biologically related or adopted—and it NEVER has. Other religions need to hurry the fuck up and get wise to this, already. Set, Nephthys, and Anubis were already on top of this well ahead of Yahweh and Jesus, and things still don’t look so good for those two on this score today.
(Plus, Set, Nephthys, and Anubis are all goth as hell, like They’re the original Addams Family—and that is just cool.)
If there is any one divinity I associate with Hallowtide in particular (which is no easy task, given the sheer quantity of gods who align with the occasion perfectly), Nephthys is the one. My wife and I enjoy visiting cemeteries all around our state in October and November, and to me, this is a way of honoring Nephthys throughout the holiday season. Just to walk among the graves and admire the craftsmanship of the headstones and tombs; to see all the ancient iconography that still shows up, even among the newer statuary; to soak in the names of the ancestors who rest there, and the times in which they lived; to be alone in the eerie silence. Even if you don’t believe in ghosts, there is just something about visiting such places for a couple of hours that has an effect on you. Most people seem to find the idea spooky, but I find it very peaceful and meditative, helping me achieve a level of mindfulness I usually can’t reach otherwise. To me, this kind of mindfulnessness is a huge part of what Lady Nephthys is all about.
Lest She be accused of never being colorful, Nephthys is also the guardian of the Bennu. This avian divinity was associated with heron birds and the solar cycle in Heliopolis. The Greek writer Herodotus described it as the phoenix (a possible Greek derivative of Bennu), which later developed into the archetypal “bird of fire” that ritually burns and rises from its own ashes. These more modern associations are fascinating when put together with Nephthys’ reputation as a healer of wounded minds and hearts, as well as Her role as a fiery monster-slayer. Though it is really about Russian folklore, I enjoy listening to Igor Stravinsky’s The Firebird each year at Hallowtide because I find the titular creature analogous to that of the Bennu, and phoenix symbolism is very evocative of Nephthys to me personally.
A discussion of the Egyptian hippo goddess Taweret, Her connections with Set, and the reasons I love Her so much.
Taweret is the Egyptian hippo goddess of childbirth. Her name means “Great Female,” and She is otherwise known as Taurt, Reret, Apet, or Thoueris. According to some accounts, She was originally the female counterpart of
Apep, the Chaos Serpent; but She became a goddess and a defender of Ma’at. Now—along with Her trusty sidekick, the benevolent daemon Bes—Taweret protects the frightened and the vulnerable. As frightening as all the qliphoth of the Void might be, they are frightened of Taweret, and for good reason. Her sacred animal is one of the deadliest creatures on earth, and She is the only other Netjer or Egyptian divinity who is powerful enough to wield Khepesh, the celestial Iron of Set!
Hippos are Typhonian animals, which means there’s a very strong connection between Taweret and Set. While male hippos were feared, females were celebrated for their ferocity in protecting their young. The Egyptians channeled this ferocity by invoking Taweret for protection, especially when it came to mothers and little children. Midwives commonly used hippo statuettes to instill Taweret’s strength in women who were giving birth. People kept Her image around their homes because it made them feel SAFE in a world of terror and chaos, with no hospitals or public health system as we understand such things today. People generally don’t behave that way toward influences they think are “ugly” or “disturbing,” so clearly the sight of Taweret inspired confidence. Despite Her so-called “demonic” appearance, the Great Female is there to defend the defenseless.
Taweret never had any temples or priesthoods of Her own (that we presently know of, at least); Hers was a purely folk tradition, kept alive by Egyptian peasants in their own homes. This is ironic, given that Taweret is also linked with one of the largest and most important constellations in the northern sky. The Egyptians viewed Draco not as a dragon, but as a great big hippo with a crocodile on Her back. In funerary art, this hippo was shown with sagging breasts that are heavy with milk. She holds a chain by which the Big Dipper is tethered to Polaris, the North Star. Taweret is said to keep the Dipper restrained to prevent Set from completely destroying the universe whenever He becomes too angry. She is helped in this regard by the Four Sons of Horus: Duamutef, Hapi, Imsety and Qebshenuf.
The Great Female was eventually recast as an alternate form of Isis, the sister-wife of Osiris; but I disagree with this conflation myself. Isis is linked to Sirius and the Sothic cycle, not to Draco or the circumpolar stars, and the Isian religion is known for having absorbed virtually every other goddess religion it encountered in Late Antiquity (including the cults of Aphrodite, Demeter, and Diana). But most importantly to me, Taweret is a “monstrous” divinity who was born of chaos and who exhibits chaotic traits, yet who uses Her chaotic powers to defend the cosmic order (not to un-create it, as
Apep seeks to do). She trades in an altogether different, more primeval kind of fertility than Isis does. The Egyptian gods are kind of like Voltron or the Megazord; they can converge in various formations and become composite deities, and this includes Taweret and Isis as much as the rest. But this is not the same thing as saying Taweret is simply a “different version of Isis.”
Many goddesses are portrayed as beautiful, slender-bodied women, but Taweret has always been depicted as rotund, with a gaping mouth full of razor sharp teeth. She certainly isn’t the sort of “glamour girl” one normally finds in pinup magazines, and I absolutely love Her for this. (Not that I have anything against the more glamorous goddesses; remember, I revere Ishtar too.) Our patriarchal society pretends to love women, but continues to shame them for not keeping fit, wearing makeup, shaving their armpits, or bearing children. There is nothing wrong with doing either of these things so long as it is your choice, just like there is nothing wrong with wearing a skirt or a hijab so long as it is your choice. But the expectation that every woman must fit some kind of “mold” is not only misogynist; it goes against nature, as holy figures like Taweret are here to remind us.
By the time the Greek writer Plutarch came along (circa 46–120 C.E.) to offer his version of events, Taweret’s story had been changed so that She was a concubine of Set who abandoned Him after the killing of Osiris. This change was probably the result of Set’s demonization in Late Antiquity, when He was conflated with the Chaos Serpent and blamed for Egypt’s fall to foreign rule. I think Taweret is still one of Set’s many romantic partners, but She also acts as a kind of “buffer” between Him and the other Netjeru, restraining Set when He loses His self-restraint. (A Lady who’s not afraid to smack Big Red around with His own iron genitals whenever She thinks He’s being an asshole? How can such a Female be regarded with anything but boundless AWE?)
Taweret also resembles Big Red in that She seems to have identified more with the “little people” who didn’t benefit as much from Pharaonic privilege. The peasants knew She would always listen to them, even if the “more important” gods of the Pharaohs and the priesthoods didn’t. In Typhonian Thelemic lore, it is said that Set is the male offspring or avatar of Typhon, whom Kenneth Grant depicts as a saurian mother goddess associated with Draco. Grant further claimed that “Typhon’s” worship was suppressed by later patriarchal religions. As far as I can tell, there is no historical evidence to support either of these claims, which Grant appears to have drawn from the poet Gerald Massey (who was not an Egyptologist). But I do agree with Massey and Grant that Set’s worship is linked to that of a “monstrous” female divinity who resonates with Draco, and who was ignored by the Pharaohs for some reason. I just think the entity they were describing is actually Taweret.
I think of Draco and the Big Dipper as being at the “center” of heaven. Being circumpolar, they never descend beneath the horizon, which is why the ancient Egyptians called them “the Imperishable Ones.” Unlike the planets and the constellations of the Zodiac, the circumpolar stars can be seen on any night at any time of year (in the northern hemisphere, at least, and weather permitting). Since Draco and the Dipper are above the Zodiac, I think of Taweret and Set as being “older” and “darker” than any of the various planetary divinities (e.g., Marduk and Zeus for Jupiter, Ishtar and Aphrodite for Venus, etc.), as well as divinities associated with Sirius and Orion (e.g., Isis and Osiris, respectively), which are beneath the Zodiac. Mind you, I am not asserting any of this to be a dogmatic “fact”; it’s just the way I prefer to think about the gods based on Their related stars. I also incorporated this theoretical cosmogony into A Would-Be Ombite Creation Myth, with Set and Taweret cast as the first Netjeru to be born from Nut or Mother Sky.
The Yezidis are accused of “worshiping the devil,” but are also romanticized by Western occultists—neither of which is acceptable.
I first learned about the Yezidis from reading Terri Hardin’s Supernatural Tales From Around the World in the late 1990s. At that point, most people—including Western scholars—were still calling them “devil worshipers,” and accurate information about this culture was still very hard to come by. It’s only been during the past 15 years or so that the outside world has finally given the Yezidis the proper attention they deserve, but the cause for this is unfortunate. After many centuries of persecution, the Yezidis continue to be systematically slaughtered by Islamic jihadists. They are especially despised by the Islamic State terrorist group, which has exterminated entire crowds of Yezidi men and kidnapped countless Yezidi women and children, forcing them into slavery.
Yezidism is a syncretized religion that combines pre-Zoroastrian Kurdish polytheism with certain elements from the biblical faiths. It revolves around nine theological personas, including: a deistic Creator god who takes little direct interest in mortal affairs; seven archangels that serve as custodians for Creation; and a holy prophet named Sheikh Adi ibn Musafir, who is believed to have been one of the seven archangels in human form. Yezidis believe that worshiping the Creator god is pointless, because this entity does not actually care what happens to mortal beings. Our prayers are more productively directed toward the archangels instead, since they now rule the universe in the Creator’s place. Of these seven angels, the most important is called Melek Taus or Ta’usi-Melek, “the Peacock Angel.”
Melek Taus appears to have been a polytheist deity who was later conflated with the Islamic version of Satan, and this is where the accusation of Yezidi “devil worship” comes from. According to the Koran, Iblis (“Doubt,” the Islamic name for Satan) was originally a genie who refused to prostate himself before Adam per Allah’s command. Iblis is said to have thought he was superior to human beings, and Allah cast him out of heaven for his insolence and pride. Afterwards, Iblis became the Shaitan and devoted himself to tricking as many people into disobeying Allah as possible (so they will go to hell). Aside from this origin story, the Islamic devil functions in much the same way as the Christian devil does; he is basically there to harass, frighten, and/or deceive monotheists into committing various “sins.”
The Yezidis worshiped their peacock god long before they ever heard this story; but at some point, attempts were made to convert them to Islam. They were told that their Peacock Angel is actually the Shaitan (just as all polytheist deities are really “Satan” in monotheist eyes). Strangely, the Yezidis seem to have agreed that Melek Taus is the same person as Iblis; and they do agree that he disobeyed a direct order from the Creator by refusing to worship human beings. But this is where the resemblance between these two narratives ends. The Yezidis believe that instead of becoming the devil, Melek Taus actually became the first monotheist. He disobeyed the Creator not out of pride but out of loyalty, for he was refusing to worship anyone else but the Creator. The Yezidis further hold that Melek Taus was rewarded for this act of disobedience, and that the Creator chose him to rule our cosmos. In this way, they justified the continued worship of their Peacock Angel not as the “enemy” of Allah, but as his regent.
Sheikh Adi ibn Musafir was a medieval Sufi Muslim who traveled to Kurdistan in search of some peace and quiet. Despite his attempts to live a monastic life, he drew the attention of his new Yezidi neighbors, who seem to have thought he was a wizard. Sheikh Adi likely tried converting the Yezidis to Islam (and he was probably one of the very few who ever tried to do this peacefully). As far as I’ve been able to trace, the idea of Iblis being “the first monotheist” originates from the Sufi movement, which follows a more mystical reading of Islam. I bet Sheikh Adi introduced this idea to the Yezidis, who then equated it with their own god Melek Taus. In any case, Sheikh Adi made such an impression on these people that they started to believe he was actually a human incarnation of the Peacock Angel. To this very day, making a pilgrimage to Sheikh Adi’s tomb is still an important component of the Yezidi faith.
Much of the attention Yezidism has received here in the West comes from Satanists, who often cite the religion as “proof” for the historicity of a pre-LaVeyan Satanism. (Nevermind the fact that Anton LaVey was preceded by two earlier 20th century Satanists, Maria de Naglowska and Herbert Sloane.) LaVey even included part of a so-called Yezidi text—the Al-Jilwah—in his book, The Satanic Rituals (Avon, 1972). This text is now accepted by some theistic Satanists as a direct revelation from Lucifer himself; but its true history is far less certain. For one thing, the Al-Jilwah is only part of a longer text called the Mishaf Resh (“Black Book”). And while it does reflect some Yezidi beliefs, it was not written by Yezidis. Back in 2007, I had an opportunity to speak about this with Dr. Philip G. Kreyenbroek (one of the leading scholars of Yezidi culture today), and this is what Dr. Kreyenbroek shared with me:
“The so-called ‘Sacred Books’ are forgeries and have little to do with Yezidi belief. [. . .] I can still remember the face of a learned Yezidi friend of mine when I first showed him the ‘Sacred Books,’ first he was scandalized and then he laughed fit to burst.”—P.G. Kreyenbroek (Personal Communication, October 20, 2007)
I have met theistic Satanists who believe everything in the Al-Jilwah word-for-word, as if it were the Bible and they were fundamentalist Christians. Yet the truth is that:
- Melek Taus and Satan are two completely different figures.
- Yezidis don’t believe in “Satan” as he is defined in Christianity or Islam at all.
- Yezidis consider the Al-Jilwah to be some Westerner’s idea of a joke.
This pretty much destroys the entire notion of using the Al-Jilwah as some kind of “infallible” sacred scripture. But Yezidi beliefs have also been appropriated by other Western occult groups, including Theosophists and Thelemites . While romanticizing the Yezidis as “ascended occult masters” is much better than vilifying them as “devil worshipers,” it is equally removed from reality. What these people have written about Yezidism really says more about Western occultists than it does about Yezidis. It’s equivalent to saying, “I can’t find more than a single paragraph about the Yezidis in any of my encyclopedias, and I’ve never actually met a Yezidi person or directly experienced their faith in any way; but since I’m a Snooticus Maximus XXI° of the Ordo Assholius Genericus, I automatically know more about Yezidism than anyone else—including those silly Yezidis!”
A much better example of how Western occultists can treat Yezidi beliefs and culture would be the Feri Tradition of Traditional Witchcraft. For better information on this particular subject, check out The Blue God of Faery, an interview with Storm Faerywolf on Patheos.com.
Alexander Hislop once conflated Melek Taus with Set, but my research has convinced me that this claim is false. However, I continue to feel great empathy for the Yezidis. I appreciate their unique theology, and I can identify with how frustrating it is when people think your god is “evil.” My heart also breaks whenever I think of all the human rights abuses the Yezidis have suffered en masse. This has been my attempt at setting the record straight about some of their beliefs, which are grossly misrepresented not only by Christians and Muslims, but also by Satanists and other Western occultists. There is nothing wrong with taking some inspiration from the Yezidi faith, if people feel a calling to do so; after all, the Yezidis themselves maintain that Melek Taus “belongs to everyone.” But if a person does take inspiration from the Yezidis, they should make every effort to understand Yezidism on its own terms, as well as to clarify that they are not actual Yezidis themselves. Since the Yezidis are an ethnic group as much as they are a religion, white people have no business trying to include themselves in their culture.
Acikyildiz, B. (2010). The Yezidis: The history of a community, culture and religion. New York, NY: I.B. Tauris & Co.
Allison, C. (2001). The Yezidi oral tradition in Iraqi Kurdistan. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press.
Arakelova, V. (2004). Notes on the Yezidi religious syncretism. Iran & the Caucasus, 8(1), 19–28. Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4030889
Asatrian, G. (1999). The holy brotherhood: The Yezidi religious institution of the”brother” and the “sister” of the next world. Iran & the Caucasus, 3/4. Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4030767
Asatrian, G., & Arakelova, V. (2004). The Yezidi pantheon. Iran & the Caucasus, 8(2), 231–279. Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4030995
Guest, J.S. (1987). Survival among the Kurds: A history of the Yezidis. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge.
Kreyenbroek, P.G. (2009). Yezidism in Europe: Different generations speak about their religion. Göttingen, Germany: Hubert & Co.
An LV-426 Setian adaptation of the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram.
The Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (or LBRP for short) is a magical procedure developed by the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It involves casting a magician’s circle, tracing pentagrams in the air, and reciting divine names of power to repel any chaotic or qliphothic forces that might be hanging around you.
The litany for this rite was adapted from a traditional Jewish prayer that is recited before sleeping:
In the Name of God, the God of Israel: may Michael be at my right hand, Gabriel at my left, Uriel before me, Raphael behind me, and above my head, the presence of God.
The actual Golden Dawn procedure is much more complicated than just a bedtime prayer, requiring the use of an altar, robes, and various ritual tools. But the effect was so remarkable that even people outside the Golden Dawn started using the procedure, re-writing it to suit their own needs. More than a century later, a Google search for “LBRP” will retrieve countless variants of the rite that are now used in various faiths today, including Wicca, Thelema, and even Satanism.
Upon learning that the LBRP descends from a bedtime prayer, I felt moved to draft an adaptation of my own. This version of the rite is written from an LV-426 Setian perspective, which means it is much simpler than what most ceremonial magicians are probably used to. You can include an altar and any additional ritual items you wish, but this is entirely optional. The only things you really need are yourself and a nice quiet place where you can be alone.
Stand facing north, with your eyes closed. Count down silently from 100. Then raise your head up high and recite:
In the Name of
God of Deshret.
Open your eyes and turn slowly to the left, facing west. Raise both your hands in the sign of the horns, pointing up to the sky.
Draw a horned pentagram in the air before you with your left hand; imagine a red light trailing behind your fingertips, so there is an invisible afterglow. Then, arms still raised into the air, recite:
NUBTI of Ombos,
Provider of Life on the Frontier.
Turn to the left, facing south. Draw another pentagram in the air, in the same manner. Then, arms still raised, recite:
TYPHON of Aegyptos,
Disturber of the Dark,
Giver of Winds.
Turn to the left, facing east. Repeat the same procedure; then recite:
HADAD of Kemet,
Savior of Khepera,
Hero of the Light.
Turn to the left, so that you are facing north once again. Draw one last pentagram in the air; then recite:
ASH of the Oases,
Wanderer of the Wastes.
Gently lower your arms and close your eyes. Remain silent for a few moments; then recite:
the Dazzling One in mortal flesh.
I alone am Sovereign Ruler
of my innermost self.
Raise your left hand in the sign of the horns, pointing west. Recite:
ever be at my left;
I will survive and persevere
in all hostile terrain.
Raise your right hand in the sign of the horns, pointing east. Recite:
be ever at my right;
I will smite the forces of isfet
and champion the Light.
Keeping both arms in the air, take a half-step backwards, so that your left foot is behind you. Recite:
ever be behind me;
I will ride the winds of change
and create myself anew.
Take a half-step forwards (with your arms still in the air), so that your right foot is before you. Recite:
ever be before me;
I will drink sweetwater
in the Desert between the Worlds.
Rise into a standing position and cross your arms over your chest, with your hands still in the sign of the horns. Close your eyes once more and recite:
May the presence of
be ever upon my crown.
Silently count backwards from 100; then open your eyes and go forth by day.
Songs from a Setian soul.
Today’s episode is not a proper sermon as such, but a collection of brief melodies composed by yours truly. I don’t consider myself much of a musician, but I hope you will enjoy. Praise be to Set!
How The Final Conflict (a.k.a. Omen III: The Final Conflict) can be read as an allegory for the goddess Ishtar and Her rivalry with Therion, the spirit of human tyranny.
The Final Conflict (1981)—which was re-christened Omen III: The Final Conflict for its DVD release in the early 2000s—is the second sequel to Richard Donner’s 1976 masterpiece, The Omen. I enjoy the original Omen trilogy in its entirety, but The Final Conflict is the one installment thereof that’s made the largest impression on me. This film also makes me think about the Akkadian goddess Ishtar, who is one of Set’s many romantic partners and the second-most important deity to me personally.
In case you’ve never seen The Omen or its initial sequel, Damien: Omen II (1978), here is a brief recap of their events. The 1976 original is about a U.S. politician named Robert Thorn (played by Gregory Peck) who learns his child has died while his wife Katherine (Lee Remick) was giving birth. A Catholic priest convinces Thorn to adopt an orphan who was born at the same time at the same hospital. Robert agrees, and the Thorns leave with their newborn baby boy (and with Katherine none the wiser to his true parentage). But as the child, Damien, grows older, weird shit starts to happen. One of his nannies hangs herself in front of his entire birthday party. A new, creepy nanny shows up to take the old one’s place. A crazy priest stalks and harasses Robert. A big black dog starts hanging around the Thorn household. A photographer (David Warner) captures prophetic photos of people’s deaths. And poor Katherine becomes terrified of the child who is supposed to be her offspring. All of which leads Robert to visit Rome, a monastery in Subiaco, and an archaeological dig in the valley of Megiddo, where he learns that Damien is really the son of Satan and can only be killed with these mystical artifacts called the Seven Daggers of Meggido.
What follows is the most disturbingly sympathetic depiction of attempted infanticide that has ever been filmed. Unfortunately, Robert only succeeds in getting himself killed when he tries to prevent the apocalypse (spoilers!), and Damien is then adopted by his uncle Richard (William Holden) in Damien: Omen II. Now an adolescent, Damien (Jonathan Scott-Taylor) remembers nothing of what happened to him or his parents in the first film. He’s also best friends with his cousin Mark, who’s more like a brother to him. Damien and Mark both attend military school, where their drill sergeant (Lance Henriksen) teaches Damien about his true identity. Meanwhile, a nosy reporter tries to convince Uncle Richard of the truth, and this leads to a bunch of increasingly over-the-top deaths. (My favorite is the guy who gets sawed in half by an elevator cable. Truly classic.) Eventually, Damien grows into his predestined role and wipes out all that remains of his family tree so he can be the sole inheritor of the Thorn family fortune.
The Omen is a perfect horror show from start to finish, and it’s every bit as scary as people say it is. The script wastes no time getting down to business, and each of the actors’ performances is Oscar-worthy. But it’s also my least favorite film in the trilogy, for Damien is only a peripheral character in the story. Granted, this is exactly what makes the film so scary; Damien remains completely alien to both his parents and the audience right to the very end, and it’s always easier to be frightened of something when it’s part of the unknown. But I find Damien: Omen II much more interesting, because it’s the first film ever made that actually puts us inside the Antichrist’s head. When Damien learns he is the Great Beast, he’s just as horrified as everyone else is; but the most powerful moment is when his cousin Mark gets wise and confronts Damien about his true identity. Mark threatens to tell everyone, and Damien reluctantly uses his powers to give Mark a brain aneurysm. When Mark drops dead, Damien screams the most convincing scream of despair I’ve ever heard from any character in any movie ever. That scene always makes me weep a little whenever I see it, because Jonathan Scott-Taylor really sells it. Damien: Omen II is quite derivative of the first movie, but it deserves credit for one thing at least: the character of Damien is perfectly written.
A lobby card for the film.
In The Final Conflict, Damien is now an adult in his thirties, and he’s played by Sam Neill. He has now become the owner of Thorn Industries, a multi-billion dollar company that has revolutionized the food industry, and which is working to solve the world hunger crisis forever. Damien is also the U.S. President’s first choice for Ambassador to Great Britain (after the current guy gets possessed by a black demon dog and blows his brains out). Damien is hot for Great Britain because he has this entirely fictitious apocryphal text called the “Book of Hebron,” which prophesies that Jesus will be reincarnated in Jolly Old England any day now. (Maybe they didn’t have the budget to do a proper Second Coming, with the J-Man flying down from the sky?) But after he sets up shop across the pond, Damien falls for a news reporter named Kate Reynolds (Lisa Harrow); then these Catholic monks at a monastery in Subiaco, Italy find the Seven Daggers of Meggido and try to assassinate him. This leads to a series of hilariously incompetent murder attempts that will have you shaking your head in disbelief. Meanwhile, Jesus is born again somewhere (did you see what I just did there?), but nobody knows where. Lucky for him, Damien knows the birth coincided with a weird astronomical convergence that occurred a few nights ago, so he sends his worshipers out to murder every male baby in England who was born within that time frame. Then Kate Reynolds finds out what the rest of us already know about Damien, and the titular Final Conflict truly begins.
The number one attraction in this film, and the most important reason for anyone to see it, is Sam Neill; he’s literally the greatest Antichrist I’ve ever seen in any film ever. Forget about Michael York, Nick Mancuso, Gordon Currie, or anyone else who’s ever played the Beast in those movies they show on the Trinity Broadcast Network; Sam Neill’s performance here is the gold standard. Rather than playing Damien like some two-dimensional cartoon villain, he plays him like he’s the goddamn hero of the movie. He brings so much charisma and charm to the role that he succeeds in making Damien extremely likeable, even when he’s ordering hundreds of newborns to their deaths. Everyone I know who’s ever seen The Final Conflict ends up rooting for Damien somehow (even though they know they’re not supposed to), and they can’t help but feel disappointed with the ending. (More on that in a minute.) The only other performance that’s comparable to this is that of Sir Anthony Hopkins as Dr. Hannibal “the Cannibal” Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs (1991). If there is an Antichrist and he ever tries to take over the world, we’d all better pray he isn’t just like Sam Neill in this movie—or else we might actually want him to take over.
The novelization of the 1981 film, The Final Conflict, by Gordon McGill.
In one scene, Damien and Kate walk through a park and see one of the monks, who’s standing on a soapbox, preaching. Damien notices the monk is staring right at him, and he instantly knows the guy is here to kill him. So he starts surveying the area like a hawk—without breathing a word of his concerns to Kate—and he actually looks worried. Is he concerned for himself, or is he concerned for Kate’s safety should there be an ambush? Then there’s another scene where Damien goes to work right after the Christ child has been born. He’s been up all night because he could sense the birth happening, and Kate catches him at the elevator, asking if it’s okay for her to try interviewing him again. (Her last attempt was foiled by another assassin.) Damien smiles and agrees, and she leaves; then he gets in the elevator, sighs, and slumps his shoulders. I’d like to remind you that this character is supposed to be Friedrich Nietzsche’s Übermensch with a vast array of supernatural powers; and yet Neill sneaks in all of these brief human touches—a look of genuine concern, a tired sigh—and actually makes us care about this evil, rotten bastard…
I hate to blow the ending of this film for anyone who hasn’t seen it, but trust me; you probably want to know about this going in. For some reason, I thought this movie was going to end with a big showdown between Damien and Jesus; surely, that would be the “Final Conflict” everyone was expecting, right? I knew things wouldn’t end well for the Beast, but I figured there would at least be some kind of special effects extravaganza. No such luck; the movie ends with Damien being led into a trap by Kate, and Kate stabs him in the back with one of those nifty Meggido daggers. Then Damien limps away, curses Jesus, and promptly dies. Cue music, roll credits. When I first saw this, I was royally pissed. The film had done an excellent job of keeping me at the edge of my seat for the first 90 minutes or so; but it starts running out of steam real fast during the final 20, and that ending just didn’t seem fair. They went through all that hard work of building up this magnificent character and this huge final battle he’s going to have, and what do they give us? Sam Neill getting stabbed in the back (literally) by the woman he loves. I mean, what the hell were they thinking? I wanted to see Damien and Jesus go “Hell in a Cell” on that shit!
An additional lobby card for the film, with Lisa Harrow as “Kate Reynolds” in the center.
But I’ve watched The Final Conflict countless times since that first viewing in 1999, and I think I’ve figured out what they were really going for here. Let’s consider that this film was not made by evangelical Christians with a religious axe to grind; if it had been, they would have kept things as close to their scriptures as possible. Let’s also consider the fact that none of the avowed Christian men in this movie can stop Damien; hell, not even Jesus himself can stop him! The only character who actually poses a real, substantial threat to the Antichrist is (1) a woman, (2) a skeptic, (3) a feminist, and (4) a single mother. In other words, she is precisely the sort of person whom conservative Christianity has always sought to disempower. The real “Final Conflict” here is not between Christ and Satan at all; it’s between male religious violence (perpetuated by Christians and Satanists) and a female secularist who just wants the violence to stop. Note that while Kate scoffs at Christianity at various points in the film, she nevertheless respects its right to exist; and while she eventually sends Damien back to hell, it’s clear she would much rather work things out and share a life with him somehow. Kate is also the only character who commits an act of violence for purely personal reasons. The monks want to kill Damien because he’s the Beast, and Damien wants to kill the Christ child because he’s Jesus; both sides are motivated by purely ideological concerns. But when Kate stabs Damien, it’s because he’s just murdered her son. (Peter is accidentally killed by one of the monks when Damien uses him as a human shield; the poor kid is literally caught between two religious fanatics.) With all this in mind, I now think the climax of this film is far more daring than I originally thought.
I used to think the conclusion to this film was just an example of lazy screenwriting, but I’ve noticed over the years that The Final Conflict gives us several hints about how it will end. In one scene, one of Damien’s “Disciples of the Watch” advises him to stay away from Kate. “I decide who’s dangerous and who isn’t!” Damien shouts angrily, betraying the fact that he feels insecure about Kate himself. Later, Kate falls into a river and almost drowns at Damien’s house. He hesitates before rescuing her (as if he senses that he shouldn’t), but his concern for her overpowers him. As Kate dries herself by the fire back in the house, she tells Damien she feels like a moth who’s flown too close to the flame; she knows he’s dangerous, but she can’t stay away. Damien’s response to her is perhaps the most beautifully-delivered line in the entire film: “Yes—but who is the moth, and who is the flame?” Finally, when Kate stabs Damien at the end with the Megiddo blade, he smiles to himself ever so subtly, as if he’s always known that she would be his undoing. Kate Reynolds was clearly meant to be the savior of humanity in this film from its very conception; and in casting her as such, The Final Conflict offers us a most unexpected soteriology.
“[Damien] is the human son of Satan, fully committed to his Father. But just as Mary Magdalene represented temptation to Jesus, so Kate represents temptation to Damien. She arouses human feelings within him that could so easily lead him astray from his insidious mission, his inglorious destiny.”
—Sam Neill in an 1981 interview upon the film’s release
The hero of this film is an independent, powerful, and successful woman. She isn’t owned or controlled by any man or male divinity. She comes awful close to losing herself in Damien, especially when she spends a dark night of the soul with him in bed. But she rises again from that proverbial pit, stronger than before, and equipped with the power to send her two-faced lover back to the Underworld. Is any of this starting to sound familiar yet? By gods, it should; for Kate’s arc is basically the Descent of Ishtar all over again. Damien is like a really nasty corruption of Tammuz, a version that’s turned completely rotten. All of his power and wealth are tied to the food industry, just as Tammuz is the god of food and vegetation. But while this “anti-Tammuz” and his enemies are gridlocked in their increasingly futile holy war, Ishtar sneaks in and chooses Her own “messiah” to save the day. The filmmakers try to give Jesus all the credit for this by slapping an obligatory Bible quote on the screen just before the end titles roll; but as far as I’m concerned, it isn’t the Lion of Judah who snuffs the Great Beast here. It’s the Lion of Babylon!
Ishtar be praised!
Contrary to popular wisdom, there is a distinction between “the Antichrist” and “the Great Beast 666” from Revelation 13. Early Christians used the word antichristos to describe anyone who (1) refused Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior, (2) propagated a “heretical” version of Christianity, or (3) claimed to be Christian but didn’t behave like one. The first of these definitions is practically useless since it would seem to include all non-Christians. The second is equally problematic since it requires demonizing all Christian denominations apart from one’s own. The third, however, makes a great deal of sense, for what else can you call someone who claims to love Jesus but fails to treat people in a Christian manner? The real Antichrist has nothing to do with Satanism, but is actually the spirit of Christian hypocrisy itself. Turn on your local televangelist TV network and you will find the true disciples of Antichrist at work, pushing their insane political agendas and extorting millions from their hapless followers in Jesus’ name.
The Great Beast (or Therion in Greek) is based on several ancient kings who persecuted monotheists. People like the Pharaoh in Exodus and the Roman Emperor Nero all had three things in common: (1) they ruled over polytheist nations, (2) they considered themselves to be divine, and (3) they considered the Hebrews and the early Christians to be a threat. After being fed to lions for so long, Christians became convinced that such rulers were actually possessed by Satan himself, and prophetic texts like the book of Revelation were built upon this core concept. While Antichrist represents the evil that lurks within Christianity, the Great Beast represents the archetypal “evil king”—a ruler who tyrannizes his people, and whose actions will bring about destruction and doom. Unlike Antichrist, the Beast doesn’t try to pervert Christianity from within; he seeks instead to destroy it from without. So if we want to get technical about it, Damien Thorn is not really the Antichrist per se, but the spirit of Therion in human form.
Mind you, monotheists have not exactly been “kind” to Pagans throughout history, either. It was especially bad for those civilizations that lived right next door to ancient Israel. The gods and goddesses of these cultures are specifically named as “demons” in the Old Testament (e.g., Ba’al, Asherah, etc.) and are commonly invoked as such in contemporary media. Lady Ishtar is just one of these divinities, and it’s sad to think that whenever She is discussed in today’s world, it is almost always in terms of biblical prophecy. She is even linked with Therion in the book of Revelation:
Then the angel said to me, “The waters you saw, where the prostitute sits, are peoples, multitudes, nations and languages. The beast and the ten horns you saw will hate the prostitute. They will bring her to ruin and leave her naked; they will eat her flesh and burn her with fire. For [Yahweh] has put it into their hearts to accomplish his purpose by agreeing to hand over to the beast their royal authority, until [Yahweh]’s words are fulfilled. The woman you saw is the great city that rules over the kings of the earth.”
As I’ve discussed before, the Whore of Babylon is clearly inspired by Ishtar, even if her symbolic purpose is different. But what I find especially interesting here is the contrast between a female entity who “rules over the kings of the earth” and an evil king who has turned against her. Ishtar presides over the concept of “sacred kingship,” which required a Babylonian king to “marry” the goddess and serve the people as Her priest. He had to ensure that his nation’s crops didn’t fail, that his borders remained protected from foreign invaders, and that his people were cared for in times of disaster. He also had to perform religious rituals all the time to ensure that his people’s gods were properly appeased. A lousy ruler who brought ruin to his people would have been considered “unfaithful” to Ishtar, and some kings were even sacrificed to atone for this sin. This only reinforces my opinion that by killing Damien in The Final Conflict, Kate Reynolds is actually sacrificing him to Ishtar as penance for his disastrous leadership. (It’s reassuring to think that with the Queen of Heaven, even monarchs can be held accountable and taken to task.)
Sam Neill and Lisa Harrow posing for a behind-the-scenes photo.
Don’t get me wrong; The Final Conflict is not a perfect film. There are times when it sabotages itself by trying to copy the original Omen too much. Why are we still wasting time with lone individuals getting slaughtered in isolated places? Why isn’t Damien the President already when this film begins, sending troops to invade the Middle East and start World War III? They missed an opportunity to enlarge the scale and the stakes of the story here; and by restricting all the action to Great Britain, they do a great injustice to the premise. The only exception to this is the baby-killing conspiracy sequence, which is one of the most chilling things I’ve ever seen. The murders themselves are never shown, but are only suggested through quick cuts, musical cues, and horrified reactions from the actors. This is a perfect example of how the power of suggestion can leave a much deeper impression on the mind than just painting the screen with gore. It also helps keep the violence as tasteful as possible (which is no small feat, considering the subject matter), while also making it more disturbing to sit through. If you think the jump scares in The Conjuring (2013) are scary, try watching the scene where one of Damien’s disciples—an Anglican priest—gives a newborn his own version of a “baptismal rite.” It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.
She rebelled to help humanity before Prometheus. She died and rose from the grave before Jesus. And She invented the “zombie apocalypse” before George Romero.
Almost every culture has viewed Venus—the “Lucifer” or Morningstar—as an aggressive, contrary force. This is because it is usually the first star seen at sunset, and the last star seen at dawn. Based on this phenomenon, people imagined that Venus is a “rebel” who defies the Sun, refusing to disappear as her superior rises, then rushing to ascend as the Sun sets. Even before medieval Christians incorporated Lucifer into their devil myth, most theological beings associated with Venus were perceived as unruly, cosmic shit-disturbers.
Ishtar, the Akkadian goddess of Venus, is no exception. She stole the sacred mes, the powers of civilization, from Her uncle Ea and gave them to the people of Uruk. She insisted on visiting Her deadly sister Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Underworld, and conquered death in the process (with some help from Ea). When She learned Her husband Tammuz had not grieved for Her at all while She was dead, She killed and kicked His ass straight down into hell. When the “hero” Gilgamesh refused to marry Her, She sent the apocalyptic Bull of Heaven after him. And when Her father Anu refused to give Her the Bull at first, She threatened to raise all the dead across the earth and send them to feast on the living. She is also said to have an insatiable sex drive, exhausting all of Her various lovers to death.
If you think that sounds bad, Gilgamesh was a king who tyrannized his people, breaking into their homes and raping all the women. He only stopped when the gods created Enkidu to challenge him, giving him something else to do with his time. Gilgamesh then became so obsessed with finding the secret to immortality that he abandoned his people and left them to fend for themselves. (What an asshole!) So it’s always seemed weird to me that he is portrayed as the “hero” in this story (despite being a tyrant and a rapist), while Ishtar is framed as the “villain” (even though She is divine and transcends all human understanding). The greatest threat Ishtar poses for this megalomaniac is not to his life, but to his ego.
(If Ishtar appeared and said She wanted to marry me, I’d say, “Okay.” Better to be mauled ecstatically by Ishtar’s lovely, blood-splattered mouth than to die by the hand of any mortal man!)
Ishtar appears in Babylonian art as a badass Amazon standing on a goddamn lion, getting ready to beat the shit out of some motherfuckers. Assyrian kings prayed for Her to join them on the battlefield like a Valkyrie and slaughter their foes like cattle. (And if their records are to be believed, She answered their prayers…brutally.) As a warrior goddess, Ishtar was very popular with the Hyksos, who called Her Astarte and paired Her with their chief deity, Ba’al Hadad. When the Hyksos ruled Egypt during the Second Intermediate Period, they brought Ishtar’s worship into the Land of the Pharaohs. And since Ba’al Hadad was identified with Set by the Egyptians, they came to view Ishtar/Astarte as one of Set’s romantic interests as well.
There is a fragmentary Egyptian text from Edfu in which
Yamm, a sea monster, demands the hand of Ishtar in marriage. For a moment, it seems the beast will claim its bride; but Set intercedes, and while the rest of the story is uncertain, there is a similar Ugaritic tale in which Ba’al Hadad rescues Astarte from Yamm. Since Hadad’s name is substituted for Set’s in the Edfu texts, the Egyptian version most likely ends with Set destroying Yamm and marrying Ishtar. Considering Their unruliness and Their shared frustrations with dying-and-rising fertility gods (like Osiris and Tammuz), don’t you think Set and Ishtar make a perfect couple?
Ishtar is often vilified for being so “promiscuous.” This is due to a complete misunderstanding of hierogamy or hieros gamos, the concept of “sacred marriage.” It is a religious rite in which people have sexual intercourse, with at least one of the participants being “possessed” by a deity. Such procedures served a twofold purpose in the ancient world. The practical purpose was to channel the fertility of a god and/or goddess into the crops, livestock, and people of a community. The spiritual purpose was to reach a higher level of consciousness. Under the right circumstances (all of which require CONSENT), a really good orgasm can totally “blow your mind” and make you feel like you’re in tune with the rest of the cosmos. It makes total sense why people would consider that ecstatic moment of self-surrender to be supremely magical. From this standpoint, sex can be much more than just some “dirty” animal act; it can be a divine religious experience that is both self-fulfilling and incredibly humbling.
The clergy in ancient religions that practiced hierogamy are often described as “cult prostitutes” by biblical scholars. This is especially true when it comes to the qadishtu or holy women of Ishtar. Sex did in fact play a part in the beliefs of the qadishtu, and they were ostensibly paid by the laity for their clerical services. But the way I see it, there probably wasn’t always a direct relation between these two things.
First of all, it is unclear whether Ishtar’s holy women actually engaged in hierogamy with everyone who entered their temples, or if just one priestess performed the rite with a king during the annual Akitu spring festival. To be honest, I have my doubts that even the latter case was always true. Many contemporary examples of hierogamy (such as the Great Rite in Wicca) are often performed symbolically (e.g., sticking an athame in a chalice, rather than actually copulating). It is entirely possible that hierogamy wasn’t always practiced quite so literally in pre-Christian times, either.
Secondly, it is wrong to assume that every service the qadishtu provided for their society was sexual in nature. In fact, it is very likely that most of what they did had nothing to do with sex at all. The available evidence would seem to suggest they were more like nuns than nymphs, caring for the sick and the orphaned, keeping chaste, and living their day-to-day lives in quiet, contemplative prayer. So the fact that Herodotus and the biblical patriarchs defined the qadishtu in terms of sex says infinitely more about them and their dirty little minds than it does about Ishtar’s holy women.
Yet another attack on Ishtar is the false claim that She is the alleged “Pagan origin” of Easter. This story goes back to Alexander Hislop, who published a pamphlet called The Two Babylons in 1853. Hislop claimed that Ishtar was originally a mortal Babylonian queen named Semiramis, who single-handedly invented all of polytheism. She then became worshiped as Ishtar—which many Christians claim is pronounced “Easter” for some reason—and created the holiday we now know by that name for herself.
Hislop was partially correct; Easter does in fact have polytheist origins. But its name is actually derived from Eostre, a Teutonic fertility goddess who bears no historical relation to Ishtar whatsoever. The imagery of rabbits and eggs is taken from a myth in which Eostre transformed a bird into a rabbit that could lay eggs (the Easter Bunny). These symbols do not appear anywhere in Ishtar’s iconography, which has plenty more to do with bulls, dragons, lions, and owls. Nevertheless, evangelicals continue to repeat Hislop’s bullshit at every turn, criticizing Easter as a so-called “satanic” rite to Ishtar.
The Burney Relief, depicting an unknown female figure who could be Ishtar or Ereshkigal (but who likely isn’t Lilith)
One thing that really sticks in my craw is when people confuse Ishtar with the succubus, Lilith. In the 1970s, many Pagan writers circulated a claim that Lilith originated not as the “first wife of Adam,” but as a “handmaiden” of Ishtar who served the goddess by bringing men to Her temple for worship. Another claim states that Lilith is really a goddess in her own right; she was later demonized, or so the story goes, when biblical patriarchy replaced the goddess religions of old. And some people seem to think Ishtar and Lilith are really just the same person at the end of the day.
There is no evidence to support any of these theories. Even in pre-biblical polytheist cultures, Lilith was a qliphothic entity that ate newborn children and sapped men of their seed at night. She was never worshiped, but was only warded off with apotropaic spells. This was as true when the Epic of Gilgamesh was being written as it was when the Old Testament was being written. I can accept the idea of people believing Lilith is a goddess today, if that is truly how they feel; but they should admit this is a new belief in the grand scheme of things, and not an ancient one. They should also avoid conflating Ishtar with Lilith, because the two are very different figures indeed. At the very least, the former is my Spirit Mama, and the latter is not.
I first met Ishtar in McClennan County, Texas, during the autumn of 1999. I was about to turn 17, and I had been walking with Set for just over two years. I can’t really explain what drew me to Ishtar so suddenly that cloudy afternoon; the best I can say is that Set “traded” me with Her, and I walked with Her for the following year. They traded me back after that, and I’ve been with Set ever since. I never quite understood why this happened until about a decade later, when I met the woman who became my wife. We met in a Pagan discussion forum, and the only reason we did is because I wanted to meet other people who knew about Set, and she wanted to meet other people who knew about Ishtar. Considering this, we’ve always felt that Set and Ishtar are personally responsible for micromanaging things just so the two of us would meet. And that hiatus I had with Ishtar was the goddess sizing me up as a potential match for one of Her contemporary qadishtu. (I sure am glad I passed the test!)