For years, I have been captivated by the somewhat-obvious connections between the biblical account of Exodus and the migration of the Thebans that departed with Akhenaten to his new city, Akhetaten (“horizon of the Aten”). How connected were they? Was there a link between the rise of the Amarna period and the Exodus led by Moses, the disgraced Prince of Egypt?
I, like many before me, looked for the connections between Akhenaten and Moses. Was Moses the half-adopted brother of the heretic king? Was it indeed Thebes where Moses was discovered in the bulrushes that line the banks of the River Nile? Had Moses truly walked the pillared halls of Karnak and Ipet-resyt? For me, I never hesitated in dismissing Ramesses II and other pharaohs that had been attributed to the Exodus mythology; I had, for some reason that I cannot truly explain, an intense attraction toward the House of Pharaoh Amenhotep III. For me, it was as clear as glass. There were no other contenders. I read through countless articles, books, and other related research that pertained to the various theories and ideas surrounding Moses and his possible relationships with the various pharaohs, but it never really jelled. There was always a missing component that one had to insert one’s faith and belief into to make it work. An ingredient that I was losing as my knowledge increased and time elapsed, and with it my research became more and more intoxicating.
Through the years, I changed my stance from being a practicing Christian, to one that, shall we say, fell into the back pews, thumbling through his book of Common Prayer looking for answers that he knew, in his heart, did not exist therein. I was lost, like a wandering sheep that had broken away from its flock. I felt alone, so I began to move away from my research, as it provided no clear path to follow; at every turn, I would find pieces of work that had, on the face of it, seemed to provide a clue or assert a plausible scenario that I could work with, understand, and build upon, only to find that the religion has affected the final outcome—that indeed it was not free from bias, but rather bent to fit the picture. I wandered from scholar to scholar looking for new ideas and theories that had not been corrupted by the institution that they were in. Even the earlier academics with their huge monographs had been tainted by the persuasive church, their ideas and theories shining on the pages only to be extinguished by the veil of the very religion they were questioning.
I must admit, I have had various theories throughout the years that I have supported and upheld in discussions, only to walk away from them after further deliberation and inner contemplation. Again, they never truly fit the scene. Moses was becoming a thorn in my side. Would I ever have or possess the answers I was seeking? There was just not enough material evidence to support any of the theories that had crossed my table. With each and every new book I read, it was filled with the same information, the same archaeological evidence, only written in a different prose, twisted and contorted to fit with the agendas of their authors. My despair at the institutions and individuals who were feeding an insatiable thirst for truth and knowledge were in fact just regurgitating the same old material, adding a new bow and wrapping paper to it, and presenting it as a new and wonderful exploratory work. Yet they were not.
I knew that if I was to make any headway, I would have to look elsewhere for my information. I began to dig even deeper into the hot sands of Egypt. So I went back to the drawing board and began a whole new process of thinking, removing all dogmatic and conditioned emotional processes. And voilà!
As a father would I place my newborn son in the murky waters of the Nile, waters that were infested with dangers that only visited me in my nightmares, like the great crocodile God Sobek, lurking just beneath the waters waiting patiently for its next victim? Or the somewhat gentle but ferocious hippopotamus Goddess Tawaret, her crushing jaws and immense tusks that would tear and puncture any intruder in her domain? Not to mention the bathing snakes and rip currents that laid in the surreal, gentile, beautiful crystal clear waters of the Nile. No, I would not. Nor would any other respected father or mother. Anyone who knows the Nile and its lethal banks would not even begin the thought process of placing their newborn infant in such perils. So why did the Old Testament purport such a notion of stupidity in the first place?1 Was there an element to this that had a ring of truth but had been lost in the stars of time? I looked for other plausible answers, such as canals, ponds, and sacred lakes. Then the great lakes of Pharaoh Amenhotep III presented themselves to me like a thunderbolt from heaven.
An enclosed and somewhat safer environment, the lakes were a place of peace and quiet away from the hustle and the bustle of the river’s edge, a place that I could envision approaching without fear of being the next appetizer. They were a location where princes and princesses walked hand in hand as they mused with their accompanied courtiers, dancing and frolicking along the water’s edge. From the safety of the lake’s embankment, obscured by the tall bull rushes that grew unhindered, I could observe my child’s safe and ultimate salvation as he was plucked from the still waters.
But as all good researchers and academics are more than familiar with, establishing a solid platform from which one can develop and begin to formulate one’s ideas is only the beginning of one’s journey. For me, the idea of this lake being the foundation of the whole Moses mythology grew, and with it I was able to visualize all the components that were both historical and biblically based. I was for once able to connect the dots and realize the enormous potential the lake had to the overall story. It provided not only a plausible location for the beginnings of Exodus, but it eventually became its catalyst.
As the years passed, I moved away from Moses the character. He no longer captured my imagination, and he had become a secondary component to the overall story, a player upon the greater stage, but by no means the star of the show. Rightly or wrongly the lake and its twin sister to the east of Thebes brought with them a reality that surpassed the biblical myth. I was now dealing with real people, real lives; I could see and touch their legacies and I needed no faith or belief to defend what I was now seeing. It was and still is real and factual.
To be blinded by one’s own ignorance is a pitfall that many have fallen into; I could see that I, too, was becoming ignorant of the very reason that I had begun this journey. I had forsaken an entire historical account because, even though it retained numerous gaping holes, it still preserved a certain amount of plausibility. I revisited my old stomping ground, I re-analyzed the characters and events that surrounded them, and to my utter surprise, I began to see real tangible correlations between the myth and the reality. They were real people! Now my journey really began. Thousands of years had passed, the stories had grown, the tales increased, names changed, and places were replaced, and all I ever needed was lying in front of me, hidden in plain sight the whole time.
Amenhotep, son of Hapu (to be referred to as “Hapu” from this point on, unless otherwise stated), was the hereditary son of Horus, the god of healing and philosophy, the great architect, who up until only the last thousand years or so was the terminus for many a pilgrim as they sought his healing blessings. He held and still does retain all the qualities of a man that we see today only on the silver screen. He was a leader of men; he captivated and held audiences with the living gods, he spoke face to face with God as a friend would to a friend. I had found my Moses; he was everything and even more than I had dreamed of. Hapu was the answer to my prayers; he not only created his own chain of events, but in doing so, he was the link that joined all the dots together.
Having found him I had truly started at the beginning of an adventure that is still ongoing, and will always be unfinished, as long as archaeologists hold trowels in their hands and men question the validity of their history. There is so much we do not understand in our past; we can only surmise and interpret the information at hand, to formulate and postulate theories and ideas, for as I always say, “We were never there, and, we will never truly know or understand what happened, we can only interpret.”
As for this book, well, Scotty and I still tread those sandy paths, trying in vain to make sense of the huge amount of material that lies on the surface of Egypt. There is so much we do not take into consideration. We surround ourselves with material items and worthless information that cloud and interrupt our true thoughts. We need only to wipe away the sand and reveal beneath it a rich and colorful history that is full of joy, happiness, and wonderment. We do not need to be reminded of the rules, the regulations, and the punishments that will consume us if we disobey. We have grown up, and we know right from wrong, as did our ancestors, and they were more than aware of what was moral and immoral. But still, we cling to the words that were written so long ago. They hold within them a truth, a realization that there is possibly something far greater than ourselves. Writing this book with Scotty has been a rollercoaster of emotions, dealing with inner demons that haunt me and taunt me at every corner, yet I have emerged a wiser man. There are no absolutes; even Scotty and I do not agree on our respective theories—hence the book. At the end of the day, when the lights go out and you are alone, if you feel a presence that brings you peace and harmony, and allows you to off load your worries and woes, then so be it. We all need that higher-self; without it, this world would probably be crazier than it already is, if that is at all possible.
—Dr. John Ward
Luxor, Egypt
April 15, 2013
O, people of Upper and Lower Egypt who
Have come upstream or downstream to
Thebes to pray to the Lord of the Gods,
Come to me,
And I shall relay your words of pray to Amun of Karnak.
And make an offering formula and a libation to Me
With what you have,
For I am the spokesman appointed by the living Horus
To hear your words of supplication2