All that lives rises from the body of Earth, and to that body all shall return. Our ancestors never lost sight of this truth. They constantly paid honor to the Fruitful Provider, often imagined as the Great Mother. Grain from the first harvest of every season was offered back to her, and nourishing gifts of milk, wine, or blood were poured directly into the ground as an expression of gratitude. Remnants of these traditions still survive, even in modernized countries. Lithuanian scholar Marija Gimbutas noted that her father arose each morning and poured a libation of wine into the soil as a thank-offering to the earth.
Earth is also home to the dead. Agricultural peoples all over the world planted their dead into the ground like seeds, expecting them to be born again from another woman's womb, to spring up new in the body of an animal, or to linger in the underworld. Spirits who joined with earth became wise. They acquired power to see the future and provide beneficial guidance. If a living person contacted them, he or she could gain knowledge of many hidden things. This is why the biblical King Saul (review his story at the end of this excerpt) violated his own law and sought out a wise-woman in the town of Endor who knew the art of necromancy.
The word "necromancy" (with its somber root in necro, dead body) evokes so many unpleasant associations that few people wish to dwell on the subject. But we should remember that traditional peoples do not share our modern horror of death. Their daily experience is interlaced with images of being pulled from the womb and being laid in the grave, growing strong and decaying away, eating feasts and being eaten by worms. Nor are corpses to be shunned. In fact, many ethnic groups have considered it cozy to bury the dead right under the living room floor so that they could remain close to the family. Estonians of eastern Europe who follow the old folkways like to throw banquets in their graveyards and eat with the departed. They put a few delicacies on each tombstone to share their food. On certain days when the dead return home for a visit, bathrooms are kept heated and food is laid out in festive array. In this way, bonds are preserved and strengthened between loved ones on both side of life's gate.
Necromancy holds a place of honor among ancient oracular arts. Shamanic practitioners have always received training in the art of summoning departed spirits. The dead were thought to be skillful at diagnosing illness and prescribing cures. I was fortunate to witness a Nepalese shaman named Jebi make contact with a spirit and channel its communications during a healing ritual. The patient, a Westerner named Jeanine, had experienced a stabbing sensation in her chest from early childhood, but doctors would find no physical reason for it. So she decided to take her problem to the native healer. Though Jeanine kept an open mind, her faith in being healed was not especially strong.
Jebi entered an empowered state of consciousness through drumming, dancing, and chanting. Soon he because possessed by an entity who identified herself as a female ancestor of Jeanine. It was eerie to watch the shaman speak in a strange rasping monotone while his body jerked with rhythmical spasms. Through his halting words, we learned that the pain was an ancestral wound. The ancestor had been stabbed to death by her husband, but no one discovered the crime in her lifetime. The wound was recorded on Jeanine's body in the form of a constant pain in the chest. After Jebi came out of trance, he performed rituals to help the spirit let go of her trauma. He also performed rituals for the patient and told her certain procedures she must perform each day for three weeks.
On the morning after this ritual was performed, Jeanine awoke with a strange sensation. The pain, which had been her constant companion for over 30 years, was gone. She kept expecting it to return at any moment, but it did not. I interviewed her a year later, and she reported still being free of all pain. Those of us who were present at the ceremony never forgot it. We could not fathom who or what really spoke through the shaman, but no one could deny the power of the experience. And we witnessed a living demonstration of necromancy practices as old as humankind.
Necromancy was well developed among the Egyptians, Assyro-Babylonians, and Etruscans of the ancient world. Citizens in classical times revered their necromaneia, oracles of the dead, and often made pilgrimages to them. A famous oracle of this type was located at Epiris in a hillside cave. The legendary hero Odysseus summoned the dead at Epiris and obtained valuable guidance for his perilous journey home. This site was associated with the worship of Persephone, goddess of the underworld, and later with Hades, god of the dead.
During the medieval and renaissance periods of European history, summoning the dead was practiced as a normal part of life. Wise-women and wise-men in the countryside conjured up departed spirits to help diagnose illnesses and prescribe cures. Families prayed to departed relatives for guidance, asking them to appear in dreams or make their presence known. Souls who had "crossed over to the other side" were particularly helpful in finding missing persons or lost treasure. They also felt impelled, like the ghost of Hamlet's father, to expose secret crimes that had been committed. Catholic priests practiced their share of necromancy in centuries past, a matter rarely discussed in church history books!
An engraving (see below) shows the 16th century mathematician, John Dee, visiting a grave at midnight with a famous necromancer. They are protected by a magic circle etched with signs of the zodiac and other arcane symbols. A frightful looking corpse rises from its tomb to impart unthinkable secrets. It was not uncommon for scholars of the past to seek wisdom or knowledge from spirits. Necromancy plays a role central role in the Faust legend, for example. In Dicken's Christmas Carol, Scrooge's life is saved by his nocturnal conversations with a departed soul.
Few of us will ever practice necromancy. But we may expand our personal range of experience by giving more thought to the dead and their role in our lives. A Brazilian psychotherapist told me that on a recent visit home, she and her cousin spent a heartwarming day at the cemetery. They renewed their friendships with those who had died. Since graves in Brazil often display a picture of the deceased, it was easy to make a connection with beloved memories. The two women talked at length to many departed ones, asking them questions, telling them recent news, and wishing them well. Passersby smiled understandingly as the two friends joked and laughed with the dead. At the day's end, their hearts felt rich and full. They had extended a bridge between this world and the next. Both sides undoubtedly profited by it. I regret that many modernized countries no longer celebrate a "day of the dead." The deceased seem to have no place, no usefulness, in a culture devoted to industrial production. Individual friends and relatives are remembered, but we extend no hand of greeting to the multitudes of dead as a community. Our lack of hospitality separates us from an important human tradition. Perhaps we are missing many opportunities to receive direct assistance from the "friendly dead" who still take interest in our lives.
In this nineteenth-century illustration, John Dee (1527-1608), famous mathematician, philosopher, and astrologer for Queen Elizabeth, holds a torch while an adept necromancer consults with a spirit.