By Hussein Bassir
---------------------------------------
In his recent article, researcher John Wong offered an overly simplistic—indeed, superficial—interpretation of one of the most complex episodes in ancient Egyptian history. He claimed that the erasure of Queen Hatshepsut’s monuments from the royal record was merely a “family dispute” between a stepmother and her stepson. Such a reading not only reduces history to a trivial anecdote, but also strips it of its deep civilizational complexity, projecting modern dramatic standards onto a world governed by entirely different systems of power, religion, and political ideology.
From the perspective of archaeological research and nuanced historical analysis, I argue that the removal of Hatshepsut’s name and images from temples and inscriptions cannot be understood outside the framework of four interconnected forces: dynastic legitimacy, religious ideology, state consciousness, and political timing.
1. Reconstructing Dynastic Legitimacy in a Patriarchal Society
Hatshepsut was not simply an ambitious woman exploiting the youth of a child-king to claim power. She was a fully crowned monarch, whose rule was legitimized by powerful institutions—especially the Amun priesthood in Thebes—which granted her religious authority even before political control. Hatshepsut reshaped the royal narrative by presenting herself as a male pharaoh, transcending her biological gender. She wore the pharaoh’s regalia, used masculine pronouns, and embodied the living god Horus on earth.
This precedent, as ground-breaking as it was, left her successors facing a critical dilemma: should her reign be enshrined as a legitimate precedent in royal tradition, or should it be erased in order to restore the expected patriarchal continuity of kingship?
The answer came in the form of a symbolic and calculated campaign to erase her presence, forging a seamless transition from Thutmose II to Thutmose III—eliminating the "female gap" in the sacred masculine lineage of Egyptian kingship.
2. Theological Doctrine and the Sacred Imagination of Kingship
In ancient Egypt, the king was not merely a political leader; he was the living embodiment of the god Horus, the son of Ra, and the upholder of maat—cosmic order and divine justice. The notion of a woman occupying this sacred role was not only politically disruptive but symbolically unsettling within the theological worldview that governed Egyptian thought for generations.
The response to this disruption did not come immediately from Thutmose III. It evolved gradually, and most clearly under his son Amenhotep II, as part of a renewed attempt to reassert the “original ideological framework” of kingship—one rooted firmly in male divinity and religious orthodoxy.
3. A Carefully Timed and Strategically Executed Campaign
Archaeological evidence clearly indicates that the erasure of Hatshepsut’s legacy did not begin immediately after her death. In fact, it occurred decades later, during the late years of Thutmose III’s reign or more prominently at the start of Amenhotep II’s rule. This delayed timing significantly weakens the theory of personal vengeance or emotional retaliation. Rather, it supports the idea of an institutional, long-term initiative aimed at reshaping state memory—not settling personal scores.
This campaign was not an impulsive act of spite, but a component of a larger political and symbolic reform project. It sought to “sanitize” the official history of the Egyptian state, closing any potential ideological loopholes that might, in the future, cast doubt on male succession or encourage ambitious women to challenge the sacred patriarchal structure.
4. No Evidence of Hatred or Personal Conflict
No Egyptian texts or inscriptions suggest that Thutmose III bore any animosity toward Hatshepsut. He never accused her of betrayal, nor did he publicly denounce her actions. On the contrary, there are signs that many of her architectural projects were continued after her death, and that some of her trusted officials retained their positions. This suggests that the erasure was not driven by hate but was rather an institutional decision to overwrite a politically inconvenient chapter in royal history.
5. A Selective, Not Comprehensive, Erasure
The removal of Hatshepsut’s name and images was neither total nor random. It was strategic and highly targeted. Her monuments at Karnak were defaced, some of her inscriptions were recarved, and her representations at Deir el-Bahari were altered or replaced with statues of male kings—or even gods. This “targeted erasure” reflects a sophisticated approach to memory management, aimed not at total obliteration, but at constructing a revised and controlled “official memory.”
What Happened Was Not Revenge—It Was the Construction of Official Memory
The events surrounding the erasure of Hatshepsut’s legacy must be seen as part of the broader philosophy of the ancient Egyptian state in crafting its royal historical narrative. This was not a “family drama,” as some have simplistically claimed, but a comprehensive project to reengineer the royal past in alignment with patriarchal ideology and traditional cosmology.
Hatshepsut represented a historical challenge to a system that ultimately could not accommodate her long-term. Yet despite efforts to erase her, her legacy only grew in depth and mystery. What was meant to silence her instead amplified her story.
It is time we stop viewing Hatshepsut as a woman caught in a domestic conflict. Instead, we should recognize her as a symbol of exceptional rule-breaking power—a woman who reshaped kingship, imposed her presence upon history, and left a mark so bold that even state-sanctioned erasure could not erase it.
ليست هناك تعليقات:
إرسال تعليق