5

DREAMS AND RELIGION

That holy dream – that holy dream,

   While all the world were chiding,

Hath cheered me as a lovely beam

       A lonely spirit guiding.

  Edgar Allen Poe, ‘A Dream’

Dreams as a means of contact between worlds

In numerous cultures around the world, a dream is considered to be a practical means of communication between an individual and residents of the farworld, including the dead, the deities, and ancestors.1 In the ancient Egyptian cosmos, the farworld was thought to be populated by the dead, both justified (⫖ḫ.w) and unjustified (mw.t), and the gods (nṯr.w).² These entities, although they often remained hidden and inaccessible,nevertheless had a direct impact on the daily lives of the Egyptians. They could help the living with such mundane matters as property disputes or the birth of healthy children, as well as afflicting the living with sickness or disease. From earliest times the Egyptians exhibited a desire to contact those in the farworld through various means. The nature of the archaeological record likely reveals only a fraction of these, and while it is biased towards the elite of society, enough remains to suggest that eventually dreams provided an effective means for direct communication between this world and the divine.

The earliest physical manifestations of the desire for a personal relationship with an inhabitant of the farworld at the non-royal level come in the form of offerings left for the dead. An even more personal contact was obtained by leaving written communications in the form of letters to the dead in the tomb. As previously discussed, these letters reveal that during the time of their writing, it was believed that the living could communicate with the dead, while the dead had access to the deities who inhabited the same sphere. It is in this context that we already find a mention of ‘The Great God’,³ what we might call the generic personal god of the Egyptians. The type of dream contact recorded at this early time (First Intermediate Period) seems to be limited to a visual one only: it is reported that the dreamer can see the dead,4 and in one instance the dead can see the dreamer.⁵ The dead do not physically affect the dreamer, nor can the dreamer contact a god. Evidence of these more intimate forms of divine contact via dreams do appear in New Kingdom texts such as the Dream Book and non-royal autobiographies.

In the Ramesside Dream Book⁶ we find indications of a close and direct relationship between the living and the various inhabitants of the farworld. Each dream image and each interpretation refers to events or images which were within the realm of possibility in the Egyptian world-view. The interpretations do not claim to reflect actuality, but rather potentiality. In addition, as O’Flaherty observed regarding Indian culture, dream references provide us with an indication of what the ancient Egyptians thought people dreamed about.⁷ Although it does not fall within the textual genres typically associated with personal piety, the Dream Book may nevertheless reflect private relationships between a non-royal individual and his god.

An initial brief definition of what I mean by personal piety is in order here. For this purpose, Pinch’s threefold typology of religion may prove useful.⁸ (l)Popular religion: the religious beliefs and practices, whether corporate or individual, of ordinary Egyptians in daily life. (2) Folk religion: religious or magical beliefs and practices of the populace, independent of the state cults and centered on the home and family. (3) Personal piety: individual rather than corporate piety, but centred on one or more of the deities of the state cults.

However, personal piety has become a technical term for the personal relationship between a man and a god as expressed through specific phrases particularly well attested in the late New Kingdom.⁹ I agree with Griffiths that this term ‘is unfortunate in its suggestion that this age had an exclusive right to be so regarded’,¹⁰ and it is applicable to other periods as well as to genres beyond hymns and prayers. The nucleus of the issue of personal piety remains the direct communication between a man and a god. In a broader sense, gods as well as the dead are inhabitants of the farworld, and there seems to be a progression in both intimacy of contact and subject of contact recorded in a dream. We have already seen how two-way visual communication is possible in the examples from the Letters to the Dead. In the Ramesside Dream Book we discover the potential for meeting the dead through a dream.

If a man sees in a dream nomads;
good, (it means that) the love of a dead ancestor will come into his presence (jw mr.wt nj jt mt=f r tp jm=f).

(r. 6.24)

This might even be considered an example of ‘intervention’ on the part of the deceased, in the same sense and with the same significance as divine intervention. For Assmann, the ‘coming’ (jj.t) of a god, often expressed as ‘coming from afar’, refers to the personal experience of divine intervention.11 In the couplet above, the same terminology is used to express not a divine,but an otherworldy visitation. The personal relationship is emphasized by the image of the ‘love’ (mrw.t) of the father ‘coming’ (jw) to the dreamer.

The effect of the dead on the dreamer is not necessarily positive, as the following dreams demonstrate.

If a man sees himself in a dream placing his face against the floor;
BAD, (it means that) something will be required from him by the ones who are yonder.¹²

(r. 9.14)

Although the phrase ‘seeking something’ seems innocuous at first glance,the specific labelling of this dream as ‘bad’ hints at a more sinister consequence. Whatever the dead seek, if they do not receive it, there will be some sort of negative retribution. Offerings to the dead are likely partly voluntary donations of good will, and partly propitiations to forestall any hostile intentions¹³ or actions on the part of the dead. The following couplet describes another possible unwanted experience.

If a man seems in a dream one of his being removed;
BAD, it means a message (wpw.t) concerning him by those who are yonder.

(r. 7.10)

Here again, something as seemingly innocent as a message is described as ‘bad’. To whom the message is directed is not specified, nor are any details of the content. This message could be to the gods regarding the activities of the dreamer, or a communication from the farworld to another living person perhaps through a dream.¹⁴ This technique of the living using the dead to convey a message to the gods in the farworld appears in a Dynasty 21 letter from the workman Butehamun to the coffin of the chantress of Amun Akhtay.¹⁵ He pleads, ‘If one (can) hear me <at> the place, where you are,say to the lords of eternity... It is you who should speak well in the farworld. For I did not do any displeasure to you while you were upon earth’. Similarly, in Louvre Bowl E 6134¹⁶ we have a First Intermediate Period instance of a mother asking her deceased son to report (smj) against an injustice, as he is in the place of justification, that is closer to the gods than his mother.17 An alternative reading of couplet r. 7.10 is suggested by both Gardiner and Groll¹⁸ who take wpw.t to be ‘judgment’. Although the orthography used in the Dream Book is the standard one for ‘message’, the word wpw.t can indeed also be used for ‘decision’ or ‘judgment’. In this case the decision is likely an unfavourable one, with the dead acting as judge. The emphasis on the role of the dead in litigation is well known and particularly clearly expressed in the Letters to the Dead.¹⁹ Whether the litigation referred to would be in this life or the afterlife remains unclear and was of minimal importance. As Pinch points out, life and afterlife were viewed as a continuum, and ‘it would be wrong to try to make a rigid distinction between benefits relating to life and those relating to the afterlife’.²⁰ Neither, then, would a distinction between banes of this life and of the afterlife be relevant.

In any case, we have here the dead playing a role which in the New Kingdom is played by a god himself. In keeping with the syncretistic nature of change in ancient Egypt – where new concepts were introduced while retaining the old – in the Ramesside Dream Book we have examples of both the familiar contact with and intervention by the dead, but we can also note the new expression of the possibility of direct contact between a man and a god.

If a man sees in a dream the god who is above (nṯr ḥry);
good, it means a great meal.²¹

(r. 2.14)

This couplet undeniably declares the possibility of an individual other than a king seeing a god in a dream.²² In addition, it is interpreted as a ‘good’ omen, thus seeing a god in a dream was evidently allowed. The god is specified as the one ‘who is above’ (ḥry) perhaps indicating Ra or Amun-Ra. I suggest, however, that the use of nṯr or nṯr=f to refer to the personal god²³ in this text – whether or not he happens to be a god of the official state religion – is required by the very nature of the composition. Whatever the details of its use, this text could have been employed to interpret the dreams of a number of individuals, and perhaps over a long period. Whether the dreamer was a Memphite devotee of Ptah, or a Theban adherent of Amun, the interpretation would be universally applicable. The use of the lexeme nṯr does not minimize the personal nature of the relationship revealed in these texts.

Not only can one see a god in a dream, but a dream can also trigger a god into personally affecting the dreamer. In the following examples, the deity pays close attention to the dreamer.

If a man sees himself in a dream looking through a window
good, (it means that) his call will be heard by his god.

(r. 2.24)

If a man sees himself in a dream [...] river (jtr.w);
good, (it means that) his call will be heard by his god.

(r. 5.2)

The first text (r. 2.24) supports at least two explanations, the one more practical, and the other more symbolic. On the one hand, the window could refer specifically to the ‘window of appearances’ in a temple or a palace.24 The window of appearances provided the public an opportunity to actually see their king (the god incarnate), who would often bestow gifts to the public from his window. Presumably, it would also provide an opportunity for an individual to directly address the divine king. On another level, the image supports the analogy between the seeing of a dream and looking through a window into the farworld. By gazing through this transparent boundary the viewer is able to look from one sphere (his mundane world) into another (a temple or palace was a sacred space). This is interpreted as an excellent omen, because it means that the dreamer’s personal god will hear the call of the individual dreamer. Assmann has described the development of the theme of the ‘listening god’, as an innovation of the New Kingdom, and has amply demonstrated its appearance in hymns.²⁵ The importance and desire to have an appeal personally heard by a god is also eloquently attested by the numerous ‘ear stelae’ which were erected throughout the New Kingdom.²⁶

Although the antecedent is incomplete in the second couplet, it appears to end in the word ‘river’ (jtr.w). Rivers also represent boundaries,and while the Nile was of manifest importance to the Egyptians both in the secular and the religious world, it was a ‘manifestation of cosmic order’ as well as a link to the primeval stock of Nun.²⁷ According to the 10th hour of the Am Duat, people who have drowned are accorded a special place in the farworld.²⁸ In fact, in this interpretation whatever the dreamer sees happening in connection with the river is stated to be a good thing. Because of the large lacuna at the beginning of the couplet, it would be futile to speculate further than to mention that the river image may again represent a permeable gap between the two worlds, through which an individual’s call may be more easily heard by his god.

A third dream which might be grouped with these is:

If a man sees himself in a dream when a homage present is given to him;
good, it means that his call will be heard.

(r. 2.25)

This couplet does not specify who will hear the dreamer’s call, but because it directly follows r. 2.24 which specifies the hearer as a god, this may be the case here as well.

While in the preceding dreams the deity has played a more passive role, other dreams reflect the possibility of a more active role on the part of the god.

If a man sees in a dream barley and emmer [...] those who are in the beyond;good, it means that he will be protected by his god

.(r. 6.18)

If a man sees himself in a dream when his mouth is broken;good, it means that as for something which is terrifying in his heart, god will break it open.

(r. 2.1)

In both of these texts the god plays the role of personal protector. In the first couplet the dreamer sees grain, possibly belonging to those who are in the beyond.29 This may refer to the fields which appear in the early sections of the farworld³⁰ and which are tended by the deceased. The dreamer who can see into the farworld is assured of personal protection by his god, who is also a member of that sphere.

In r. 2.1 the text is quite specific as to the type of protection the dreamer can expect to be granted by his god. In this case, his god will personally come to break apart any deep-seated fear the dreamer may have. The jb (heart) was the most important organ of an individual, and like m⫖ᒼt or b⫖ it is a complex term, difficult to translate. The heart was the seat of emotions, intelligence, and will. A common theme in expressions of personal piety is placing a god, the love of a god, or the Greatness of a god in one’s heart (rdj m jb).³¹ But in this unique instance in the New Kingdom Dream Book, the deity can reach right into a (presumably) living individual’s psyche, and forcefully break up his fear.

A god can also appear as a personal provider to an individual, as in the following passages.

If a man sees in a dream a honey jar whose top has been covered;
good, it means [...] him something by his god.

(r. 2.4)

If a man sees himself in a dream [...]ing of high/uplifted fingers;
good, something will be provided to him by his god.

(r. 3.10)

If a man sees himself in a dream taking dates;
good, it means that victuals (ᒼnḫ.w) will be found as a gift of his god.

(r. 4.20)

In each of these three texts the images reveal that the dreamer will be provided for personally by his god. While in the first two it is not specified what will be provided – what is emphasized is that the god will be the donor. The fragmentary state of the description of the image in couplet r. 3.10 unfortunately prevents an unambiguous reading, but it seems to include the idea of fingers which are exalted or high, or perhaps uplifted in a gesture of worship. The relevant symbol in couplet r. 2.4 is a sealed jar of honey. In ancient Egypt honey – used as both sweetener and medicament – was valued. Honey was not only used as an offering to the king and gods, but it was a product of an emanation of a god.32 In P. Salt 825 it is said that ‘Then Ra wept again. The water from his eye went down to the earth, and it transformed into a bee. As the bee was created, it began its (task of) opening up inside the blossoms of all the trees. This is how wax was created, and how honey was created from his water.’³³ If a commoner dreamt of having a sealed jar of honey – that is honey already processed but not used by another – this may have been considered a gift of the gods.

The third couplet, r. 4.20, may be based on a comparison between sweet items, such as dates, and the gods who usually surpass the sweetness of the earthly item. In addition there is an even more obvious relationship: the image of dates, a food, leads to the discovery of life-giving food (ᒼnḫ.w) which has been specifically given to the dreamer by his god. In all three of these texts, the dreamer will be the recipient of goods furnished directly by his god.

In the following texts, a god acts as the dreamer’s personal promoter.

If a man sees himself in a dream climbing up a mast;
good, (it means that) he will be elevated by his god

.(r. 4.11)

If a man sees himself in a dream causing the cattle to come in;
good, (it means that) people will be assembled for him by his god.

(r. 6.3)

In both of these, the connection between image and result seems transparent (the image of physically climbing up with being elevated in r. 4.11, and the pun between cattle (j⫖w.t) and people who are themselves often called ‘cattle’ in r. 6.3). What makes these dreams noteworthy is the direct impact that the god has on the dreamer’s life. In passage r. 4.11, it is the dreamer’s god who is responsible for the individual’s promotion.Passage r. 6.3 evokes the image of the deity as herdsman, a responsibility transferred from the king in the Middle Kingdom to the god in the New Kingdom. The fact that the god assembles people not to himself or around the king, but around the dreamer, increases the latter’s importance and standing. The first couplet is even more dramatic for sᒼnḫy usually refers to lifting up the sky.34 Here, the dreamer can look forward to being singled out and being actually elevated by the arms of his god.

An even more intimate connection with a god is attained when he performs the act of giving life to an individual.

If a man sees himself in a dream giving himself victuals (ᒼnḫ.w) of the temple; good, (it means that) life (ᒼnḫ) will be assigned to him by his god.

(r. 4.22)

If a man sees himself in a dream planting gourds;
good, (it means that) a good life will be given to him as his god’s gift.

(r. 6.9)

Aside from the word-play between ᒼnḫ.w and ᒼnḫ in the first couplet, there is also an association between the image of helping oneself to victuals of the temple, as opposed to a household meal for example, and the direct assistance of a god. Although the connection between image and interpretation in r. 6.9 is opaque, the interpretation itself is unambiguous: the dreamer may receive a good life at the discretion of his god. This bears a striking similarity to the theme of what Assmann calls the ‘personal life god’³⁵ which appears in the New Kingdom. When discussing a Ramesside hymn from TT 49, Assmann explains that ‘it states that the good things of life are “in the hands of god”. It is not a question of life as a cosmic omnipresent force, which is at work “eminently in all things”, but rather the achievement of personal existence that will be given to the one who is “in favour of the god.”³⁶ He continues by explaining that it is those who ‘act on god’s water’ or ’put into their heart’ the Greatness of the god who are specifically selected. Contrary to this notion, however, in the above examples the deity bestows his ‘individual blessing’ on the one who simply views the proper image in a dream.

These dreams are all examples of the positive effect that a god can have on an individual. In the following dreams, god acts as a dispenser of justice – another feature of personal piety appearing particularly in Ramesside hymns and prayers.³⁷

If a man sees himself in a dream seeing the moon when it is shining;
good, (it means) being clement to him (htp n=f) by his god.

(r. 5.22)

If a man sees himself in a dream praising [...] ;
good, (it means that) he will be justified before his god.

(r. 6.21)

These dreams emphasize the dreamer’s appearing in a positive light before his god. In the first dream, 5.22, the moon may have symbolized the clemency of the god, or the image may have provoked the positive response of the god. The risen moon was itself an icon of a number of gods including Thoth, Osiris, Khonsu, as well as one of the wḏ⫖.t-eyes.38 Looking at the moon occurs in a request which may express a desire to go on a pilgrimage:³⁹

I pray to Ra’, I watch the moon, I venerate him who shines so that he may allow me to accompany Sokar in Restau on the day of the walking around the wall (TR O77, C1–ff).

In this passage, the supplicant prays to the god, venerating him and gazes upon one of his icons in order that the god allow him to participate on pilgrimage. A similar action, even though performed in a dream, may have led to an equally beneficial response. While the concept of the god as merciful is a common one, in these dream interpretations the god is merciful (ḥtp) specifically to the individual who was dreaming (as indicated by n=f). Text r. 6.21 suffers from an inconvenient lacuna where one would expect to find the object of praising. But whatever the dreamer is praising, it may lead to his justification before the god – the ultimate necessity for a happy afterlife. Again, it is not a global justification at issue, but the positive personal justification of the individual.

Gods are not always clement and certain images either symbolize or provoke a stricter verdict.

If a man sees himself in a dream copulating with his wife in the daylight;
BAD, (it means that) his crimes will be seen by his god.

(r. 9.22)

If a man sees himself in a dream snatching the wood of a god from his hand;
BAD, (it means that) his own crimes will be discovered by his god.

(r. 9.26)

If a man sees himself in a dream writing on a papyrus roll;
BAD, it means that his crimes will be reckoned by his god

.(r. 7.21)

If a man sees in a dream wings enfolding about himself(?) (m-ᒼ=f);
BAD, (it means that) he is not justified (m⫖ᒼ-hrw) before his god.

(r. 8.9)

Passage r. 9.22 seems to play on the idea of activities the dreamer would rather remain out of sight being embarrassingly revealed. In passage 9.26 the image of seeing oneself writing on a papyrus scroll (perhaps reminiscent of Thoth inscribing the results of the weighing of the heart, or a bailiff recording the results of legal proceedings) leads to the unhappy consequence of having to pay for one’s crimes. Also it is not the more generic ‘wrongdoings’ (ḏw.t) which are under scrutiny in the first three passages,but the ‘crimes’ (bt⫖.w) which can have a legal connotation – crimes which are not to be judged by a human, but by the offender’s god.40

In the fourth text (r. 8.9) the relationship between the antecedent and the consequent may in part be based on a pun between m-ᒼ and m⫖ᒼ. But its imagery is striking as well. The visual image contained in the dream is that of the dreamer being enfolded with wings, an image that is commonly found in royal statues, where the king is enveloped within the protective wings of Horus. The consequence of this dream is the potential for the dreamer to be found unjustified in the presence of his god: an occurrence so horrific it is not usually referred to in Egyptian texts.

The dream image in these four texts leads to interpretations in which the god is expressed as being the judge of the individual. The possible outcome can be clemency towards the dreamer or his justification, or the opposite.

The dreams also reveal the god as an omnipotent punisher.

If a man sees himself in a dream breaking apart stone;
BAD, it means that his god is angry towards him.

(r. 8.18)

If a man sees himself in a dream placing incense on the flame for god;
BAD, (it means that) the power of god will be against him.

(r. 8.26)

The connection in couplet r. 8.18 between breaking stone and the anger of the god is difficult to determine, unless the idea of the performance of such a menial task signals the god’s displeasure. The connection between image and interpretation in the second couplet (r. 8.26) is more obvious. Borghouts discusses this ‘curious entry’ as he calls it, in connection with a Ramesside letter in which incense is requested in order to propitiate a goddess who has threatened to ‘work a manifestation’ against a man’s son.⁴¹ He explains that incense would have been one of the regular ingredients used in a ‘conciliatory rite. The Egyptians would have recognized the image of incense being burned as part of the propitiatory ritual performed by the hapless victim after the god had directed his manifestation toward him.

Both of these dreams describe a god – not a tribunal, nor the king – as acting directly against the individual. Divine intervention as triggered or symbolized by specific visual images can be a source of a sublime individual blessing, or the ultimate horror of being unjustified. Note that in this Dream Book, any attempt at direct contact with a god initiated by the dreamer is interpreted as inauspicious, as indicated in the following examples.

If a man sees himself in a dream entering the temple of a female deity (nṯr.tḥm.t);
BAD, [...]

(r. 7.1)

If a man sees himself in a dream after he had driven away his (god’s) tears for god;
BAD, it means fighting.

(r. 7.12)

If a man sees himself in a dream snatching the wood of a god from his hand;
BAD, (it means that) his own crimes will be discovered by his god.

(r. 9.26)

In the first instance the dreamer sees himself entering a temple of what is quite emphatically described as a female deity – a goddess. There is no corresponding dream to compare of an individual seeing himself entering a male deity’s temple. Although the consequent is largely missing, the crucial element to the interpretation is evident: this dream is pronounced ‘bad’. This may be because the Dream Book was designed for the use not of priests, but of laypeople, who would not normally be allowed to see the interior of a temple. This breach of decorum, even though it does not necessarily occur but is merely envisioned, is enough to elicit a negative portent.

The content of couplet r. 7.12 appears unique. The concept of driving away the tears of a god is bizarre enough, but to describe that god as weeping might imply that it is Ra himself. In Coffin Text Utterance 711 we discover the deceased proclaiming:

I shall place his worms in the eye of Atum.I am Re [...].

I have come that I may repeat for him his tears.

I am Re, the one who weeps (for) himself, by himself with his Sole Eye.

The fire was extinguished with my eye; the road was cooled with my tears.

I am the [.] of Re, who lifts Re everyday.

I have washed myself; I am one who has tears.

I shall go forth from the fire, I being hale; I have not been cut.

(CT VI 342i–s)

The meaning of the passage (r. 7.12) remains obscure, but the man seems to have overstepped the boundaries of the permissible in terms of contact with the divine. His irregular conduct towards god indicates aggression toward the dreamer. If this were the only passage mentioning an act involving direct physical contact with a god I would hesitate to pursue this idea,but as it happens, couplet r. 9.26, already briefly discussed above, cannot be interpreted otherwise. The dreamer sees himself ‘snatching, seizing, stealing’ (ṯ⫖j.t)42 the wood belonging to a god right from his hand.⁴³ The connection to the interpretation may be a play on what is in the dreamer’s hand. When he snatches the wood from god’s hand, it is now in his hand, and god can easily discover this crime (literally ‘in his grasp’ m-ᒼ=f).Contact initiated by the dreamer always seems to lead to a prognosis of woe.One can see god with happy results, but nowhere is there any mention of seeing oneself talking to god, or of god speaking to the dreamer. It has been suggested that the Egyptian gods did not intervene directly in their dreams nor in their dream interpretations.⁴⁴ Clearly, however, these examples show that divine intervention was a distinct possibility, at least in the proposed interpretation, whether it be for the benefit or the bane of the dreamer.

Although the god is not named specifically in these interpretations, the Ramesside Dream Book often expresses relationships with the god which qualify as examples of personal piety. Vernus describes some new features of personal piety which manifest themselves during the New Kingdom as including a change in the ideology of the god who now acts as judge of all human actions. He notes that while the deity was always attentive to the needs of humanity in general, it was in the New Kingdom that a new idea developed of the direct and systematic intervention of the divine. The role of the god had changed from that of a passive observer, to one who actively reacts to what he or she observes. The relationship between the individual and the god was now an interactive one, with the individual able, to a certain extent, to provoke and thus modify the behaviour of the god.⁴⁵

If a dream was indeed considered as an ‘awakening’, in a sort of reality between this world and the farworld, then this interactive relationship may have extended to the dream life as well as waking life. We have seen that the living and the dead could see each other in dreams, and the Ramesside Dream Book suggests that the same may have been true of the gods. In this case, through his dream actions, a dreamer would have been capable of provoking a variety of direct responses from his god, albeit unwittingly. As a result of his dream behaviour, a dreamer could find himself personally tended to by his god, provided with sustenance and even life itself, or he could inspire his god to act either as a merciful or a harsh judge. In this way, if the Dream Book was actually used, or at least read, it could serve to instruct an individual in social norms and behaviours. The examples above reveal the pharaonic social norms regarding the divine to the modern reader, while they would also have served as a guide for the behaviour of an individual Egyptian in the ancient world. Nowhere, however, are these dreams explicitly claimed to be divine messages from the god. For examples of individuals receiving direct communications from a named god, we turn to the next section.

Divine visitations

While Egyptian pharaohs from the time of the early eighteenth dynasty were privileged to receive personal visits from deities in dreams,46 this degree of intimacy did not enter the popular sphere until the late eighteenth dynasty – even if an individual did hear a god in a dream, it seems to have remained private and unannounced, therefore leaving no evidence. The public expression of such divine contact seems to have remained outside the boundaries of decorum until after the Amarna Period. Even then our evidence is slim – only two hymns are currently attested – but they are important nevertheless.⁴⁷

Stele of Ipuy

The first text is the inscription of a man named Ipuy written on the front and back of a stela (Wien Env. Nr. 8390), and published by Satzinger.⁴⁸

Giving praise to Hathor, who lives in Thebes

Kiss the earth for [...] in all her forms.

May I pray to her
          for the Greatness of her name,
          for the strength of her striking power.

Love of her is in the hearts of the people.

Her beauty is with the gods.

The Ennead shall come to her bowing down
          for the Greatness of her eminence.

It was on the day that I saw (her) beauty –
         my mind was spending the day in celebration thereof –
    that I beheld the Lady of the Two Lands in a dream and
         she placed joy in my heart.

Then I was revitalized with her food;
         without that one would say ‘would that I had,
           would that we had!’

He [...]

[...] festival(?)

that which gives teaching to [.]

[...] pure food(?)
         by the servant in the Place of Truth

Ipuy, the Justified, says:

[...] solve the problem

The wonders of Hathor [which she] did should be related

[to the] ones who don‘t know about them, and the ones
         who do know about them.

A generation should tell a generation
         how beautiful [...]
     [...] her face to the sky.

One is bathed and inebriated by the vision of her.

Her father Amun shall listen to her all her petitions
    peace [...]
    [.wh]en he rises, carrying her beauty.

He made lapis-lazuli for her hair
         and gold for her limbs.

The Two Banks of Horus were made for her
         that the god [mother(?)] may prepare [...]
    [...] the land to its limits, because love of her is so great
         her brow shall bind with the beauty of his beloved face

[...]

The text begins in a standard hymnic fashion, announcing itself as a hymn and then proclaiming the power and beneficence of the goddess toward people in general. The composition quickly changes its tone, becoming personal and presented in the first person. Ipuy reveals the setting of the momentous occurrence which may have prompted him to write this stela in the first place:

ḫr jry hrw ptrj nfrw.t
wrš jb=j m ḥb jry

(It was) on the day that I saw <her>beauty
my heart was spending the day in festival thereof.

Ipuy does not see the goddess in a nocturnal dream, but rather in the day (hrw) while his ‘mind (jb) was spending the day in festival because of it’. Satzinger suggests that the use of jb here indicates that Ipuy was not physically at the festival or a shrine of Hathor, but that he was there in his imagination.49 Alternatively, the author had been physically in the presence of the goddess as Djehutiemhab was (see below), and he was happily daydreaming about it. The jb was the organ which ‘directed thinking, feeling, willing, and acting as centre of one’s waking consciousness’⁵⁰ and Ipuy’s was on vacation. In this semi-conscious state he relates that he beheld the Lady of the Two Lands in a dream (m⫖=j nb.t t⫖.wy m qd). Here we finally have an extant description of a non-royal individual actually experiencing a vision of a deity in a dream. If we accept our currently-known texts as a fairly representative sample, the recording of such an event was rare. Seeing a god, particularly Amun, is referred to rather frequently in the New Kingdom, but not in a dream.⁵¹

Ipuy’s intense reaction to the episode stresses the extraordinary nature of this type of encounter with a person of his class. He is not a member of the royal family, but a workman in a construction crew of a royal tomb – in Egyptian a sḏm-ᒼš m st-m⫖ᒼt, a ‘servant in the Place of Truth’. Although he cannot remember or chooses not to record the details, his vision of Hathor arouses an ecstasy and religious fervour, as the goddess places this joy directly into the worker’s heart (dj=s ršw.t m jb=j). Note that she does not bestow this gift upon the world in general, but exclusively to Ipuy. Assmann explains that the phrase ‘to put into one’s heart’ (rdj m jb) becomes commonly used in expressions of personal piety in New Kingdom texts, and distinguishes the idea of a ‘cosmic blessing’ from a personal one directed toward an individual.⁵² Ipuy then reveals that he was ‘revitalized with her food’ ( <ḥr > w⫖ḏ m k⫖.w=s) without having to ask for it. This k⫖.w is perhaps metaphoric food, in other words, it is the presence of Hathor, and the joy which she personally places in his self (jb) which sustains the man.⁵³ Satzinger raises the possibility that the ‘food’ refers to actual Hathoric offerings, such as wine,⁵⁴ perhaps suggestive of an existing rite.

The dream of Hathor and her ‘wonders’ (bj⫖.wt) has such an impact on Ipuy that he wants it to be related not only to everybody in the world, but to future generations as well. The wḥᒼ md.t preceding this may refer to some problem having been solved perhaps by the goddess in his dream, but due to the unfortunate lacuna this must remain speculative. The wonders he wishes to have related may simply have been the divine proximity wherein, by his own account, ‘one is bathed and inebriated by the vision of her’. While Ipuy is in awe at his fortune in being able to see the goddess in a dream, our next text describes an even closer relationship wherein the goddess speaks directly to an ordinary man in a dream.

Biography of Djehutiemhab

The Ramesside official Djehutiemhab, by trade an overseer of the fields of the temple of Amun, engraved in his Theban tomb (TT 194)55 a detailed description of his intimate encounter with the goddess Hathor. It is difficult to assess how representative Djehutiemhab’s professed experience was in terms of his peers, for the decoration of his tomb certainly was not. There is a notable absence of the funerary scenes usually associated with Ramesside tombs of similar rank, and an abundance of motifs which seem to have been personally selected by the tomb owner.⁵⁶ Text 119 follows, as one of the most singular ancient Egyptian hymns.⁵⁷

A hymn of the Golden One, Eye of Ra,
       who kisses the earth for her ka.

A prayer to her beautiful face, applauding her every day,
[by Osi]ris, the overseer of the fields of the temple of Amun,
Djehuti[emhab, the justified.]

[He said:
      ‘I have come] before you, Lady of the Two Lands, Hathor, Great of Love.

Behold [I.] for your beautiful face
           and I kissed the earth for your ka.

I am a real priest of yours
           and I am upon the waters of your command.

I don’t cast aside the speech of your mouth;
          I don’t ignore your teachings.

I am upon the path of that which you yourself have given,
          upon the road that you have made.

How happy is the moment for the one who knows you;
          every one who sees you is praised.

How joyful it is, when the one who enters your shadow
         rests by your side!

You are the one who predicted my tomb chapel at the beginning,
         as it was first decided.

That which you said, has happened;
          your plan [is carried out]
                 and a place [is made] for my mummy-body.

You will give me old age, and my rest,
          while I [am] healthy and satisfied with life,
                my eye able to see, and all my limbs complete.

You are one who has spoken to me yourself, with your own mouth –
          “I am the beautiful Hely,
                 my shape being that [...] of mother
         I have come in order to instruct you:

See, your place – take hold of it,
          “ without travelling north, without travelling south”

while I was in a dream,
         while the earth was in silence,
                 in the deep of the night.

At dawn, my heart was delighted,
          I was rejoicing and I gave myself over to the West
                in order to do as she said.

For you are a goddess who does what she says,
         a noble lady to whom one owes obedience.

I have not neglected your speech;

I have not transgressed your plans.

I perform only according to that which you said.

Place your face in order to let me bow down to it.
     Reward (with) your beauty
         that I may perceive your form within my tomb
                in order that I may recount your power
                   in order to make young men know (of it)’.

The text begins by praising the Greatness and beauty of the goddess, much as Ipuy’s did, and then Djehutiemhab switches to a more self-centred tribute and embarks on a litany emphasizing his loyalty to the goddess. He is a ‘real priest’ of hers and is ‘upon the waters of <her> command’ (twj ḥr mw n wḏ=ṯ) – a phrase diagnostic of the Ramesside expression of personal piety.58 Hathor is his mentor, his guide, and his director, while he is her avid student and obedient disciple. According to Djehutiemhab, he is privileged not only to see her but to receive a direct communication from the goddess in dream – a rare privilege worth recording even when conferred when awake. Djehutiemhab conveys that the goddess has truly spoken to him in person mntṯ j:ḏd n=j m r⫖=ṯ ḏs=ṯ. This is not an oracle approached during a procession, or a figure of speech, or a vision, for again Djehutiemhab unambiguously reports that she spoke ‘while I was in a dream’ (jw=j m qd). As discussed previously, qd originally meant ‘sleep’, but in the New Kingdom could mean ‘dream’ as well.⁵⁹ The passage here perfectly parallels Ipuy’s, and this reading is to be preferred over ‘while I was sleeping’.⁶⁰ "Whether Djehutiemhab fell asleep, and had his dream in the presence of a cult statue of the goddess, is unclear. His phrase ‘How joyful it is, when the one who enters your shadow rests by your side!’ may be taken figuratively, expressing the notion of being under the ‘protection’ of a god.61 It is notable, however, that another well-known New Kingdom text mentions sleeping in the shadow of the god: the Dream Stela of Thutmosis IV. It is clear in the latter text that the pharaoh literally falls asleep in the close vicinity, the very ‘shadow’ of the Sphinx, immediately prior to his dream. Djehutiemhab’s wording may be purposefully ambiguous, echoing the words of the famous text both to describe the setting of his own dream, and to accentuate his close relationship with Hathor.⁶² Closer in time and social standing is Qenherkhopshef, whose hymn to Mert Seger reports that he has physically spent the night in the shadow of the goddess‘ face (perhaps referring to the mountain), and that he has slept in her forecourt (s:wḫ⫖ ḥ ᒼ.wt=j n ḫ⫖ šwy.t ᒼr=k sḏr=j p⫖y=k wb⫖) without any mention of dreams.⁶³ Sleeping or resting in the vicinity of a deity’s statue or temple would be another expression of piety.

As previously noted, while Ipuy was blessed by the personal appearance of the goddess, the details are lacking. Djehutiemhab, however, who perhaps not insignificantly is of a higher rank than Ipuy, reports her appearance in detail. He recognizes her as Hathor, but in her own words she identifies herself not as Hathor, but as ‘the beautiful Hely’, whose shape is that of . This phrase is preceded by a short lacuna (possibly ) but remains unclear. Assmann suggested that ‘Hely’ is a nickname for Hathor, and cites a text naming a woman as ‘Hathor, known as Hely’.⁶⁴ Most interesting is that this does not appear to be a divine name, but rather a personal name. This lends credence to the suggestion that mwt is meant here simply as ‘mother’.⁶⁵ There may also be a double or even triple entendre at work here, as Hathor is referred to as ‘mother of mothers’,⁶⁶ but mwt can also refer to the Theban goddess Mut.⁶⁷ As her name denotes, Mut was a mother goddess, and te Velde further explains that from the time of Hatshepsut, she is referred to as the mother of the king, and the wife of Amun-Ra, as well as his daughter.⁶⁸ As nb.t pt she may also be associated with Hathor, though her nature is slightly different. While Hathor is strongly associated with sexuality, Mut is considered more of the ‘old wise woman’, the ‘mother goddess [who] does not only give life, but directs it as wearer of the double crown’.⁶⁹ This is precisely what the goddess does in Djehutiemhab’s dream – she states that she has ‘come in order to instruct you’ (jrj=j jj‹.t› r mtr=k). It seems then, that the goddess has come to Djehutiemhab in the familiar shape of a maternal woman, rather than as the Hathoric cow, and introduced herself by a personal nickname. "While it has been suggested that Hathor here does not appear in her ‘true form’,⁷⁰ Hathor is frequently represented as a slim woman. The use of a nickname ‘Hely’, rather than the more cumbersome and formal Hathor (lit. ‘House of Horus’ ḥwt-ḥr), again underscores Djehutiemhab’s close relationship with her. After announcing herself, the goddess advises the dreamer on the location of his tomb – an unparalleled act – which she can display to him without his having to move from the location where he sleeps (n ḫd n ḫnty), for distances are irrelevant in a dream.

Following the direct speech of the goddess, Djehutiemhab provides eloquent details of the time of his dream; it occurred ‘while the earth was in silence, in the deep of the night’ (jw t⫖ m sgr m nfrw grḥ). This spotlights the unprecedented nature of the communique. The account of Djehutiemhab’s dream is short, and spans only columns 10–13 of text 119. That this small portion is presented as a true account of a dream as Djehutiemhab remembers 71 is indicated by its very brevity, its precise framing, and its unorthodox presentation.⁷² The momentousness of Djehutiemhab’s divine visitation is shown by the very placement of the text deep within TT 194: on the north wall at the entrance to the burial chamber.⁷³ Both Djehutiemhab and Ipuy were filled with ecstasy after their epiphanies, and ensured the event would remain with them for eternity by recording.

Royal vs. non-royal divine dreams

In Pharaonic Egypt, at least until the Late Period, it is no coincidence that the only documentation reporting dreams found to date involves inhabitants of the farworld, whether they be the dead or a god.⁷⁴ If the reality of the dead or gods were in question, the dreams themselves would have no impact. But the divine dreams in particular are the dreams deemed important enough to record in detail, and they establish the dreamer as a member of an exclusive group – as one who has been in direct contact with the farworld. The genuineness of the New Kingdom dreams is substantiated by the fact that neither Ipuy nor Djehutiemhab have need of a dream-interpreter.⁷⁵ Their dreams are not symbolic nor mysterious, but like the dreams of the New Kingdom pharaohs they are immediately transparent.

The gap between royalty and lay people nevertheless is visible again when we examine which god deigns to contact the two men. While the New Kingdom warrior-pharaohs are visited by the male deities RaHarakhty, Amun, and Ptah, our more ordinary citizens are visited by one of the most accessible and beloved deities in the Egyptian pantheon: Hathor.⁷⁶ .A plethora of shrines, votive offerings, prayers, and dedications testify to this goddess‘ enormous popularity in the New Kingdom. Epithets of Hathor extol her virtues as Mistress of love, music, dance, joy, to name just a few, and it was to Hathor that many individuals turned when requiring aid with personal matters. Both Ipuy (r. l. 6: rš.w m jb) and Djehutiemhab (l. 13: tw=j m ršrš š) were filled with joy by their encounter and indeed this personal rapture, whether instigated by a personal audience or inspired by the mere thought of her, is one of the hallmarks of the cult of Hathor. When reciting hymns to Hathor, ’what strikes every reader is the note of optimistic joy sounded by the poet when he sings of participation in her festivals. Enthusiasm surges forth from the song:

“There comes wine together with the Golden One,
And fills thy house with joy,
Live in intoxication day and night without end,
Be happy and carefree,
Whilst male and female singers rejoice and dance,
To prepare for thee a beautiful day.”77

Hathor was a goddess who aroused Great reverence and gratefulness for her benevolence and mercy. She was a goddess who listened, answered petitions, and discharged guilt, while loving gaiety and promoting festivals.⁷⁸ The dreams of Ipuy and Djehutiemhab may even have occurred while they were participating in a festival of Hathor⁷⁹ or they may have been unrelated – in either case the dreams seem to have occurred spontaneously, and do not seem to have been induced in any way.⁸⁰ It is implausible that these two individuals were the first Egyptians ever to dream of gods; but the reports of Ipuy and Djehutiemhab are the earliest found so far that document these dreams in detail, and the fact that they date to the New Kingdom may not be accidental. The cosmopolitan nature of the New Kingdom engendered innovation and new attitudes in virtually every aspect of Egyptian society, including that of religious expression. These include the recorded descriptions of dreams of gods, which were now incorporated into tomb biographies as a means to express the close relationship between the individual and the divine.

Dream rituals

Incubation

So far we have considered unsought dreams, but we will now examine the possible evidence for sought dreams in Egypt prior to the Late Period. John Ray divides solicited omens, which he defines as ‘deliberate inquiry after divine will’, into those which seek a simple answer to a known problem, and those which seek ‘from the god more information, both about the nature of the difficulty and about its possible solution’.81 The first is exemplified by oracles which in Egypt required a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.⁸² The only extant cases that I am aware of mentioning dreams and dating from our period are the small Ramesside oracular ostrakon inscribed with the question: ‘Are the dreams which one will see good?’⁸³ and possibly P. Deir el-Medina 6. The second type of omen is often typified by the practice of incubation – sleeping in a temple or holy location in the hope of experiencing a dream.⁸⁴ According to Jeffers the specific preconditions for incubation included a ‗belief in the reality of the dream’, a holy place, and – I would emphasize – the active seeking of contact with the divine in a dream.⁸⁵ It has already been demonstrated that the Egyptians did believe in the reality of the dream, and they certainly had holy places, but it remains to be seen whether any evidence exists of an Egyptian, before the Late Period, sleeping in a sacred spot for the express purpose of seeing a dream. Sauneron noted that incubation can be divided into two categories distinguished by their goal: one was to obtain divine cures, the other type consisted of unrelated wishes, such as those concerning infertility or the need for instructions relating to buildings.⁸⁶ After setting forth the available evidence, he remained sceptical that either of these was practised prior to the Hellenistic Period. Since his report in 1959, more documents have come to light which mention particularly devout individuals spending the night in the vicinity of a sacred space, but the individuals in these documents do not report any subsequent divine dreams or visits. There are a myriad of reasons that a pious individual might choose to be near his deity including the desire for private prayer and communion, to show ultimate devotion, or simply as a result of yearning for physical proximity to his god, whether it be represented by a statue, or a sanctuary. Assmann has shown that this desire for proximity was urgent and important, especially in the Ramesside age.⁸⁷ The night was a dangerous time, particularly when one was in that vulnerable state of sleep. Awakening safely and in peace within the shadow of the god (represented either by a statue, or by a temple or sanctuary) could be considered the Greatest proof of being under the personal protection of one’s god.

The earliest possible reference to the seeking of dreams dates from the First Intermediate Period ‘Letter on a Stela’.⁸⁸ In this letter the author advises his deceased wife that he will bring offerings to her in the morning after he has seen her fighting on his behalf in a dream. Although this is a tempting proposition, there does not seem to be satisfactory evidence that the author of this text waited at the tomb for his dream, any more than the authors of the so-called ‘ear-stelae’ waited by their stelae for confirmation that their prayers were heard. He obviously hopes to see a dream of her, and in this sense it can be considered an example of a sought dream, but it lacks any of the preceding rituals, or references to sleeping in specific locations that would normally presage formal incubation. Petrie’s suggestion of Serabit el-Khadim as a Middle Kingdom setting for incubation has also been firmly rejected by Gardiner and Peet.89

More recently, a New Kingdom graffito found in a grotto above the temple of Hatshepsut has been submitted as a possible candidate for evidence of incubation.⁹⁰ The text, which probably dates to the late eighteenth or early nineteenth dynasty,⁹¹ was written by a priest and scribe of the temple of Thutmosis I named Nebwaw. The hieratic inscription begins with the titles of the author and the purpose of his visit: nb-wᒼ.w r m⫖ ⫖ st tn r s:wḏ⫖ ḏr=f jm=s ‘Nebwaw has come to see this place in order to become completely healed.’⁹² This is followed by offering formulas, blessings for the reader of the inscription and curses against anyone defacing the stela. On the basis of this text, other unpublished graffiti from Deir el-Bahri, and an inscription at Mert Seger, Marciniak argues for the presence of a New Kingdom healing-sanatorium and incubation cult at Deir el-Bahri. His suggestion is, however, convincingly challenged by Philips on the grounds of palaeography, vocabulary, and a parallel visitor’s graffito; Philips suggests that the salient phrase should be read s:d⫖y-hr=f, rather than s:wḏ⫖ ḏr=f. In Philips’ reading of the text, rather than coming to be completely healed, Nebwau ‘came to see this place and to have a good time in it’.⁹³ In either case, there is no mention of the author sleeping or dreaming, and thus no reason for this to be cited as evidence of incubation at Deir el-Bahri.

The other New Kingdom candidate for a practitioner of incubation (also cited above by Marciniak) is Qenherkhopshef, the author of an inscription devoted to Hathor.⁹⁴ This villager has at times been confused with the first known owner of the P. Chester Beatty III, also named Qenherkhopshef, yet they are separate individuals, albeit related. Although Egyptian genealogy is notoriously complex, it appears that Qenherkhopshef (the owner of the Ramesside Dream Book) in his advanced years took a young wife named Naunakhte. After his death, she took a husband Khaemnun with whom she bore eight children. One of these children was Qenherkhopshef the younger, the author of the Mert Seger stela, who conveniently listed his parentage upon his stela.95 The text begins with praise to Hathor, and includes a description of his visit to the Valley of the Queens (columns 4–10):

I strolled around⁹⁶ the Place of Beauty⁹⁷

    spending the evening⁹⁸ in the forecourt

   drinking water of the cataract(?) in the area of its source.⁹⁹

You accepted the reeds and lilies in the forecourt of Ptah

    and my body spent the evening in the shadow of your face.

I slept (in) your forecourt

    and I made the stela in the temple

      beside the lords of the Holy Place¹⁰⁰ ...

Giving praise to the Ka of Hathor, Mistress of the West, Lady of Heaven, Mistress of all the Gods. Kissing the earth to your name. I am a ba-soul in the presence of his Lord; I was born in your temenos of the cave beside Deir el-Bahri, in the neighbourhood of the Menset-temple (of Amenophis I and Ahmose Nefertari). It was beside the great akḥu-spirits that I ate from the offering bread of the lector priest. I strolled in the Valley of the Queens; I spent the night in your temenos and drank the water that issued from the mountain (?) in the temenos of Menet; it waters the rushes and the lotuses in the temenos of Ptah. My body spent the night in the shadow of your face; I slept (in) your temenos. I made stelae in the temple beside the lords of Deir el-Bahri.¹⁰¹

While I agree with Bruyère that it is likely that Qenherkhopshef visited both Deir el-Bahri and Mert Seger, there is no indication that he stayed there in order to receive a dream from the goddess. There is no reference to any divine communication, nor to any extraordinary occurrence in the night, nor any indication that he expected to see a dream. The idea that he slept there ‘because it is during sleep that the goddess sends prophetic dreams’¹⁰² is not a sentiment that would necessarily have been relevant in the New Kingdom context. The dreams of Ipuy and Djehutiemhab still remain the exception rather than the rule, and even Ipuy’s dream was not in any sense prophetic, while Djehutiemhab’s was less a prophecy foretelling a future event, than a divine instruction. As discussed above in reference to the New Kingdom Dream Book, the theory that gods were responsible for sending dreams to laymen was not yet prevalent in ancient Egyptian society, or at least has so far left no trace. Simply spending time in the presence of a holy place may have been important enough for Qenherkhopshef to set up his memorial. There is no evidence that he saw a dream. The emphasis is quite strongly on the fact that he spent so much time there, in the sanctuary of Hathor, even sleeping in her holy place and drinking the waters that flowed from the sacred source and thus absorbing for himself a bit of her divinity. Earlier in the text he describes how he is ‘a ba-soul in the presence of his Lord’, how he was born in her temenos, how the stelae that he made in Deir el-Bahri was beside the lords of that place. It is proximity to the gods that is the focus of his inscription. The suggestion that this text is an example of incubation is perhaps influenced by the familiarity of most western scholars with that practice in the Graeco-Roman world.

Evidence for the practice of incubation in Mesopotamia has until recently remained hidden within the literary texts, but Annette Zgoll’s work now shows how this practice was alluded to in both Sumerian and Akkadian texts by a standard phrase, a phrase that went unrecognized by modern scholars for years.103 Perhaps a similar situation will be revealed in terms of the ancient Egyptian texts, but I did not notice any such diagnostic phrases in the hieroglyphic and hieratic texts examined so far. The inscriptions which mention sleeping in a temple do not mention any associated dreams (rsw.t or qd). In the inscription of Sarenput I at Aswan (dating to the Middle Kingdom), for example, the official notes that tribute of foreign countries was reported to him, that he slept in the temple on the day of the Great festival, and that he received gifts from the palace.¹⁰⁴ The significance of his sleeping in the temple is unclear. Does it indicate his piety, his close connection with the god, or with the king who allowed him this privilege? It is clearly a special experience, placed alongside other demonstrations of his importance, but there is no indication that he obtained any special healing, power, or dreams from this experience. There are a number of texts that mention sleeping (usually ‘lying down’, sḏr) in a specific location, such as a temple (ḥwt-nṯr) or a city (njw.t),¹⁰⁵ but remarkably these texts do not mention dreams (rsw.t or qd). This activity surely had special significance for it to be referred to in such a consistent manner, but an investigation of this practice is outside the scope of this book.¹⁰⁶

While both Ipuy and Djehutiemhab state that they had divine visions while they were asleep, these are not presented as solicited dreams. The fact that these theophoric dreams were recorded may reflect changes that were slowly occurring in religious expression on a popular level which in turn were having an effect on the official level. Religious decorum may have been set by the state in ancient Egypt, but it in turn could have been affected by popular beliefs.107 By legitimizing, formalizing, and standardizing the activity of seeking divine help through dreams, the priesthood was able to restrict what had been an autonomous private experience. This dynamic may have been at least partially responsible for the development of sanctioned temple incubation. By the Late Period, ‘dreams with religious significance now occurred in temples, rather than being personal experiences that took place outside the temples’.¹⁰⁸ The number of texts referring to both spontaneous and sought dreams from a divine source significantly increased in the Late Period,¹⁰⁹ and the building of sacred ‘sanatoria’ with rooms reserved for incubation flourished in the Ptolemaic Period.¹¹⁰ John Ray’s suggestion for the changing attitudes in Egypt’s later history is certainly credible, and he astutely observes that

the sought dream appears in fact only in the later periods of Egyptian history. This may partly be due to the inadequacy of early material, but it is difficult to resist the suspicion that the appearance of incubation and of dreaminvocation does correspond to a clear change in Egyptian thought, one in which the human mind becomes increasingly conscious of fate, of its own shortcomings, of hostile forces beyond its control, and begins to reach towards the magic and other means necessary to circumvent them.¹¹¹

The question of whether incubation was a natural development within Egypt, a foreign practice introduced by one of the neighbouring civilizations while Egypt was under foreign dominion, a Hellenistic influence, or a combination of those is outside the scope of this book which focuses on the dreams through the New Kingdom. While I believe it is doubtful whether, before the Late Period, the secular strata of Egyptian society formally sought dreams, there is documentation for at least one such religious rite, although carried out by a priest and only in a funerary context.

The Opening of the Mouth ceremony, Scenes 8–10

In the biographies of both Djehutiemhab and Ipuy, a dream is referred to in Egyptian as qd. This word also appears in the ‘Opening of the Mouth’ funerary ritual during an episode which apparently features a dream. This is one of the few ancient Egyptian rituals of which we have written details, and while the phrase ‘Opening of the Mouth’ appears as early as the fourth dynasty,¹¹² a complete and illustrated version of the entire ritual is not known until the New Kingdom.¹¹³ This funerary ritual is presented as a series of discrete actions depicted in the form of vignettes, and accompanied by brief descriptions – much like stage directions – and recitations.114 It does not seem to have been limited to pharaohs and royalty, and scenes of the ritual make their appearance on tombs, coffins, as well as stelae of non-royal individuals.¹¹⁵ As is the case with the Pyramid Texts, Coffin Texts, and Book of the Dead, not every episode appears in every tomb, and indeed no location includes all of the possible scenes. Eberhard Otto has, however, reconstructed a total of 75 episodes that comprise the elaborate sequence in its totality, which he has further broken down into a statue ritual, an opening ritual, a purification ritual, a burial ritual, a slaughter ritual, and a temple ritual.¹¹⁶ Accompanying illustrations depict sacred activities such as purification, censing, anointing, clothing, feeding, and using special tools to touch various body parts of an avatar of the deceased, whether that be a statue, anthropoid coffin, a representation of the deceased dressed in festival attire, or, as in the case of Tausret, a royal cartouche.¹¹⁷ Bjerke concludes that it would not really matter which avatar represented the deceased, for the purpose of the ritual was not to revivify the object itself, but to reawaken the senses, mobility, and animation of the dead individual.

Both Otto and Helck view this portion of the composition as taking the form of a dramatic ritual; both of them note similarities and dissimilarities with the Ramesseum Dramatic Papyrus.¹¹⁸ Goyon outlines typical features of Egyptian dramatic texts and includes the episodes under discussion in his own list of such compositions.¹¹⁹ He notes that typically the text is presented as a dialogue, often between gods. The background setting is often presented in an abbreviated form, functioning as a ‘memory-aide’ to the director, while rubrics may be provided to label the ‘actors’. Finally, the composition is divided into scenes, or tableaux which may be illustrated, each of which is given a title or synopsis, expressing the essence of that particular scene. The recitation itself is indicated by the phrase ḏd-mdw, preceded by the name of the individual to whom the discourse is directed. When the layout is in vertical columns, horizontal lines are drawn to indicate the end of a ‘dialogue’. Goyon observes that the abbreviated nature of these dramatic texts may give them a superficial appearance of being incoherent and incomplete, but the dramatic text should be viewed as the skeleton of the ritual, more like a director’s plan than a play written out in detail.

While recent scholarship has concentrated on the specific activities of purification, the actual opening of the mouth, and the intriguing tools used in their performance,¹²⁰ it is only recently that new attempts have been made to interpret the episodes which possibly feature a dream: episodes 9–10 of Otto’s enumeration.121 These specific episodes are currently unattested prior to the New Kingdom, and are not included in the majority of compositions describing the ritual. They take place directly after the purification ritual, and according to Otto comprise the beginning of the ‘Statue-ritual’.¹²²

In the first scene, the sem-priest is the focus of attention, along with the jmy-js, ‘the one who is in the tomb’. This is the first appearance of the sem-priest, and he wears not the familiar leopardor panther-skin vestments, but is depicted in a shroud, squatting on a stool. The action is said to take place in the sacred area or seclusion of the hw.t nbw (‘Gold-house’),¹²³ and it is here that the sem-priest sleeps. The word used here is sḏr, which can mean either lying down, or the act of sleeping. Following the version of the tomb of Rekhmire, in the very next line the sem-priest begins to speak, and reveals that he is sitting in ‘his’ (most likely the statue’s) presence. Other versions interpret this not as a recitation by the sem-priest, but as part of the narration.

The sem-priest next proclaims, ‘He has broken me!’ The lexeme here is sḏj, an obvious pun with the ritual-remark sḏr. I translate here ‘break’ but the word can also mean penetrate, break into, breach (a wall), invade, open, crack (an egg), fracture, etc.,¹²⁴ and is perhaps most familiar within the context of the ritual of ‘breaking the red pots’, sḏ dšr.w. Ritner explains that this ritual is an aggressive one, probably designed symbolically to repulse and dismember enemies.¹²⁵ After the recitation, the ritual-remark informs us that the activity taking place is sḏr, ‘sleep’.

The next line introduces the jmy-js, literally ‘he who is within the tomb’ and describes him as standing behind ‘him’. The accompanying illustration confirms that ‘him’ in this case must be the statue. Another recitation follows, presumably again by the sem-priest, ‘He jolted me!’ This verb can have the meaning of ‘push’, ‘poke’, ‘shove’, ‘shake’, or ‘jolt’.¹²⁶ Again, we have a pun with the main verb sqd, and the ritual-remark which follows: qd. This recitation thus occurs while the sem-priest is in the state of qd, which as we have seen earlier can mean ‘dream’. At this point, the jmy-js, standing behind the statue, four times exclaims: ‘My father, my father!’ The text describes the scene as ‘awakening the sleeper, the sem-priest; finding the jmy-khents’ (literally ‘the ones who are in the interior’).

In the next episode (numbered 10 by Otto), the sem-priest is, according to the previous line, awake, though in the illustration his physical position and garb remain unchanged. He describes what he has seen in his dream to the jmy-khents, who stand behind the statue127 and face the sem-priest. The sem-priest announces that he has seen his father in all his forms. While in the presence of the sem-priest, the jmy-khents then make a rather cryptic pronouncement: ‘Your father should not distance himself from you.’¹²⁸ This is followed by the ritual remark wnw with the determinative of a falcon. The sem-priest next pronounces that ‘the spider has caught him’, followed by the remark sḫt.t-ḥr, ‘spider’.¹²⁹ Next, the jmy-khents recite that they have seen the father (in one instance the mother) in all his forms, followed by the remark ‘the form as a praying mantis’. The jmy-khents then say ‘prevent him from suffering’ followed by the remark ‘bees’ (written as three bees). Finally, they state that nothing should be disturbed by it, and this pronouncement is followed by the word ‘shadow’.¹³⁰ This concludes the scene.

In brief, according to traditional interpretations, the episodes take place in the workshop before the completed statue. The texts narrate the awakening of the sem-priest from sleep, whereupon he divulges that which he has seen while in the dream state: various physical manifestations of the deceased. Helck interprets the scenes as a description of the sem-priest entering a shamanic trance in order to capture the soul (shadow) of the deceased with the help of various animals (falcons, spiders, bees, mantis) and installing it within the statue, thus animating the cultic image.¹³¹ Lorton explains that the text refers to the process of manufacturing the statue itself (such as cutting, chiselling, and even polishing) which involves activities that could cause serious damage if inflicted upon a living person.¹³² It is these activities that Lorton suggests are described by the sem-priest, who progresses from an initial stage of appreciation of the artisan’s work to that of realizing that the process itself represents acts of violence.

Fischer-Elfert suggests that the scenes represent the sem-priest meditating on the proposed construction of the statue, thus differing from scholars who see the statue as already finished at this point.¹³³ The priest sees a vision of the completed statue, and gives encoded instructions which are in turn interpreted by the lector priests. Thus, when the sem-priest shouts out ‘my father, my father’ four times, he is addressing each of the four sides of the uncarved block of stone. His pronouncements of sḥt.t-ḥr (spider) and ⫖bw.t (mantis) are actually code-words for the technical terms used in sculpture <j> bj.wt (net or grid) and šw.t (shadow or contour).¹³⁴ The lector-priests interpret these as instructions on how to place the grid over the block, and then outline the figure which is to be carved from it. The final form of the statue is based on the model seen in the sem-priest vision. The lectorpriests thus act as a type of translator for the artisans to create the sem-priest’s vision.

While scholarship differs in terms of the purpose of the ritual itself, and in the details of what the sem-priest sees, it is acknowledged that the priest enters into a state called qd. While Otto retains its original meaning of ‘sleep’,135 Helck proposes that this refers to a state of trance.¹³⁶ Fischer-Elfert presents a strong and convincing argument against the interpretation of qd as a ‘trance’¹³⁷ or of the sem-priest as any sort of ‘shaman’,¹³⁸ and suggests instead that the priest is in a state of meditation.¹³⁹ Whatever term we wish to use to indicate this specific condition, the Egyptians used the word qd indicating that they classified the states experienced by Djehutiemhab, Ipuy, the unknown woman in P. Deir el-Medina 6, and the sem-priest, under the same category. While the dreams of the others seem to have been spontaneous, scenes 9–10 of the Opening of the Mouth composition suggest that the sem-priest sought this vision as part of the funerary rites. As this ritual took place in a secluded area, this then could be considered a case of incubation. It must be remembered, however, that this was a funerary ritual, not a ritual of the daily cult; it was cryptically described and restricted to the sem-priest. In the New Kingdom, incubation had not attained the popularity and institutionalization that it enjoyed so evidently in the Graeco-Egyptian world.

Summary

Dreams seemed to play an increasing role in the religious life of New Kingdom Egyptians. The Ramesside Dream Book disclosed the possibility for private relationships between a man and his god. The dreamer could see a god, and the images seen in dreams could be interpreted as affirmations that a god would play the role of personal hearer, protector, provider, promoter, and life-giver. He could act with clemency, or as a strict judge and punisher of any individual. The Dream Book, being a manual for the use of no particular individual, names ‘god’ simply as the universal nṯr. Yet the oneiric theophanies of Ipuy and Djehutiemhab attest to the very personal nature of relationships that even non-royal individuals could have with a specific divinity by means of dreams. These individual accidents of divine contact through dreams were perhaps a prelude to the institutionally sanctioned incubation which would arise centuries later.

Notes

1 Falgayrettes 1989, 108.

² Hornung 1956, 29 lists a third group, the sleepers (sḏr.w). Rather than living people, these seem to be individuals who have already died, and are either waiting to be reborn in the farworld, or remain inert until awakened by the arrival of the sun god each night. This is made clear in the Book of the Night (Roulin 1996).

³ The ‘nṯr ^c ⫖’ in the Chicago Jar Stand (FIP). See Gardiner 1930 for a full publication.

⁴ See the Letter on a Stela and Nag ed-Deir 3737.

⁵ Nag ed-Deir 3737.

⁶ Gardiner 1935.

⁷ O’Flaherty 1984, 15.

⁸ Pinch 1993, 325.

⁹ The theory that personal piety arose as a sort of backlash against the Amarna Period was first undermined by Posener 1975.

¹⁰ Griffiths 1988.

¹¹ Assfmann 1994a and 1995, 200 where he cites examples including Berlin 20377, Graffito in TT 139, and P. Leiden I 344 v. 1–2.

¹² Groll (1985, 72) suggests that ‘turning one’s face downwards may hint at the grave’.

¹³ The potential malevolence of the dead towards the living will be discussed in detail in Chapter 6.

¹⁴ The oracular amuletic decrees include the promise by a deity to ‘make any dream which she has seen a good one’ as well as to ‘make any dream which another has seen for her a good one’. The latter may possibly be translated as ‘make any dream which another sees of her a good one’, implying that person x dreaming of person y can affect person y.

¹⁵ O. Louvre Inv. 698 = H.O., pls. 80. Čenrý 1973, 369–70. Also translated in Wente 1990, #353; McDowell 1999, 106–7.

¹⁶ Piankoff and Clère 1934.

¹⁷ See also Vernus 1995, 81 for a brief but important discussion of the channels of communication with the beyond available for the living.

¹⁸ Groll 1985, 122.

¹⁹ See the discussion and corresponding references in Baines 1987, 86–8.

²⁰ Pinch 1993, 357.

²¹ The connection between antecedent and consequent is unclear, but it may be a reference to god as the one who provides nourishment.

²² This dream has been commented on by Hornung 1971, 130–1, who translates ‘seeing the upper (or: chief?) god: good. It means much food.’

²³ Gardiner suggests ‘ “his god”, which probably refers, not to the good god (Horus) or bad god (Seth)...but rather to the “city-god” so often mentioned in the texts of the Middle Kingdom’. For an important discussion on the use of the term nṯr see Hornung 1971, 42–60.

²⁴ Leitz 2000, 233.

²⁵ Assmann 1995, 200–1.

26 See Pinch 1993 and Sadek 1987 for discussions of these.

²⁷ Butzer 1975–92, 480–3.

²⁸ Hornung 1999, 40.

²⁹ Although the lacuna prevents a certain translation, this is a reasonable reconstruction.

³⁰ For example in the second hour of the Am Duat.

³¹ See the discussion in Assmann 1979, 11–72.

³² Brewer, Redford, and Redford 1994, 125.

³³ Derchain 1965, II, 5–7.

³⁴ Wb IV 54.9 ‘(den Himmel) hochheben’.

³⁵ Assmann 1995, 192.

³⁶ Assmann 1995, 193.

³⁷ Posener 1971, 59–63.

³⁸ Helck 1975–92.

³⁹ Sadek 1987, 219.

⁴⁰ Attested from the 18th dynasty (Wb I 483–4), the first meaning of the word is ‘to commit a crime; atrocities (in a judicial sense)’.

⁴¹ Borghouts 1982, 20–2. A translation of the letter under discussion, O. Leipzig 11, can also be found in Wente 1990, 141, #183.

⁴² Wb V 350.

⁴³ A possible parallel for this passage is CT VII 467d, which reads n nḥm w⫖s m ḏ.t=j, ‘The w⫖s-sceptre may not be taken away from my hand.’ While this text employs a different verb, nḥm, and in two examples the wood determinative is preceded by the w⫖s (three out of five examples lack the wood determinative, while the sixth has a lacuna), the possibility of an icon of power being forcibly removed from the hand of a god is being expressed.

⁴⁴ Parlebas 1982, 19.

⁴⁵ Vernus 1995, 84–5.

⁴⁶ See Chapter 3 for a full discussion of these texts.

⁴⁷ The Inscription of SiMut called Kyky (TT 409) is not included in this discussion for it fails to disclose any reference to dreams, either as rsw.t or the expected qd, or to seeing the goddess while asleep or napping, or for that matter while awake. Rather SiMut (Text A, 2–6) makes a rather vague statement describing how:

his god instructed him. He instructed him about his teaching. He set him upon the path of life, in order to protect his body. The god recognized him as a child. He decreed noble food <for him> . Then he pondered deeply himself to find a protector for himself. He found Mut at the head of the gods, Shay (and) Renenet with her, the span of life and breath under her control, and all that happens is at her command (Negm 1997, 40).

SiMut then proceeds to list his indebtedness to Mut, and to bequeath her his goods. There is not, however, any indication of direct discourse with the goddess, and no hint of a dream.

⁴⁸ Satzinger 1985.

⁴⁹ Satzinger 1985, 252 (b).

⁵⁰ Hornung 1986, 19.

51 For the threat of metaphoric ‘blindness’ as a divine punishment in the New Kingdom see Galan 1999.

⁵² Assmann 1979; Assmann 1995, 192–5.

⁵³ Darnell 1995, 50 points out that this pun on jb, (meaning belly, heart, desire, or wish) and food was not uncommon in a Hathorian context. In light of Walker’s research on the term jb, (see especially his discussion on the issue of jb and food, [1996, 174] ) and his rejection of the suggestion that jb refers to the stomach, it may be more suitable to explain the use of the term here as an emphasis on the personal and emotional quality which ensues from the experience of receiving sustenance from a deity.

⁵⁴ Satzinger 1985, 253 (d).

⁵⁵ See Seyfried 1995 for more details on the tomb of this 19th-dynasty man.

⁵⁶ Seyfried 1995, 111–15.

⁵⁷ The publication of this text along with a detailed discussion on this text as evidence of personal piety can be found in Assmann 1978, 22–50.

⁵⁸ This phrase has often been discussed by Assmann. See for example Assmann 1979, 23–8.

⁵⁹ This use of qd in this sense seems to be restricted to New Kingdom letters, biographies, and the oracular amuletic decrees of the Third Intermediate Period and likely reflects the linguistic diglossia prevalent in these times. For the etymology of qd see the discussion in Chapter 2.

⁶⁰ Another alternative might be ‘while I was dreaming’. As this would be the only attestation of the activity of dreaming as opposed to the state of a dream, I prefer to translate this as a substantive, parallel to the other instances of qd or rsw.t.

⁶¹ See Assmann 1978, 31(o) for a discussion of swt in the context of protection.

⁶² The adoption of royal motifs in this tomb is remarkable and unusual for the period. If Djehutiemhab was basing his divine dream meeting on a royal precedent, his only options (so far as we know) would be Amenhotep II’s stela at Memphis, and Thutmosis IV’s stela at Giza. Of the two the latter has a closer resemblance to Djehutiemhab’s: neither text uses the lexeme rsw.t, resting in the shadow of the god is mentioned in both (Djehutiemhab rests ḥtp while Thutmosis IV relaxes nḏm pw), both deities are said to speak ‘with their own mouths’, and they announce their own identity. But note that both of the royal texts describe the oneiric event in the third person (as does the later Merneptah’s), while Ipuy and Djehutiemhab employ the first person.

⁶³ Bruyère 1930, 23–30.

⁶⁴ Assmann 1978, 32(t).

⁶⁵ ‘Mother’ may possibly be restored in Ipuy’s biography according to Satzinger 1985, 254(f).

⁶⁶ Daumas 1975–92, 1025.

⁶⁷ This would not be the first instance of wordplay in this text, such as the one between m š⫖^c and m š⫖w (col. 10) as pointed out by Loprieno 1996a, 48.

⁶⁸ te Velde 1975–92.

⁶⁹ te Velde 1975–92, 247.

70 Assmann 1978, 45.

⁷¹ Of interest here, is not only the fact of the dream, but also which segment of the dream Djehutiemhab chooses to relate. As Reynolds point out in reference to the Zezeru of Zimbabwe, ‘Dreams are invisible to all but the dreamer. Most dreams are discarded. A problem is what is remembered, recounted, as distinct from what is experienced in dreams – the latter is forever closed to outsiders. Structures emerge in the telling’ (Reynolds 1992, 32). Out of all the dreams Djehutiemhab ever had, this portion of a divine dream is the one he selects to be included on the walls of his tomb.

That the telling of the dream in this case follows a quasi-literary model is to be expected. It appears in the context of a hymn, itself a part of an autobiography. How far an Egyptian autobiography reflects actual events of an individual’s life is often difficult to determine. For example, SiMut, another Theban official previously referred to, ‘dedicated much of his property to the goddess Mut, recounting how he came to do so in a narrative with a literary, almost fictional formulation that is probably meant to assimilate it to the highest models’ (Baines 1991, 185). Vernus, however, sees in SiMut’s inscription nothing more than a disguising of his disinheritance of his son ‘sous la parure flamboyante d’un quasi-mysticisme’ (1978, 143). Similarly, the modern reader may elect to treat the dreams of Ipuy and Djehutiemhab as imaginative fantasies, for dreams may never be proven. Either way, studying these dreams is valuable for they reveal the Egyptian perception of what a dream should be like.

⁷² Particularly illuminating is the contrast of the introduction of the two ‘speeches’. In the New Kingdom hymns and prayers could provide textual frameworks for the insertion of autobiographical statements (Gnirs 1996, 235).

⁷³ PM I, 301; Seyfried 1995.

⁷⁴ I do not include here the Dream Book, or texts which make reference to dreams, but only those which actually describe dreams which have been seen.

⁷⁵ Assmann 1978, 45.

⁷⁶ Much has been written on Hathor, and the following is but a selection of sources: Bleeker 1973; Bleeker 1992, 29–48; Pinch 1993; Roberts 1997.

⁷⁷ Bleeker 1973, 64.

⁷⁸ Bleeker 1973, 83.

⁷⁹ This has also been suggested in relation to incubation by von Lieven 1999, 113–14.

⁸⁰ For the issue of whether dreams were induced by means of alcohol or drugs in Egypt before the Late Period, see Szpakowska 2003 where I conclude that there is no substantiating evidence for this claim.

⁸¹ Ray 1976, 130.

⁸² The possible mechanisms for approaching and receiving oracles in pharaonic Egypt has been treated in a number of sources including recent works: McDowell 1990 and Shirun-Grumach 1993.

⁸³ Čenrý 1962, 45–6; 1972, 53, pl. XV (40).

⁸⁴ The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on Historical Principles Vol. 1, Oxford 1993, 1343.

85 Jeffers 1996, 136–7.

⁸⁶ Sauneron 1959, 40–53.

⁸⁷ Assmann 1994.

⁸⁸ Wente 1975/6. See the Appendix for the complete text, and Chapter 2 for further discussion. This was first proposed by Wente (1975/6, 599–600) who notes that the text appears on the back of a funerary stela which would have been placed in the tomb. Recently, Ray 1981, 179 has more cautiously suggested that this letter ‘also shows clearly the link between appeals to the dead and incubation through dreams’. See also Parkinson 1991c, 142.

⁸⁹ Gardiner and Peet 1952–5, 48–51.

⁹⁰ Marciniak 1981, 283–91.

⁹¹ There is a difference of opinion on the dating based on palaeographic grounds by Marciniak (1981, 288.5, 291.1) who suggests the reign of Ramesses II, and Philips (1986, 82.25), who proposes the late 18th dynasty.

⁹² Marciniak 1981, 285. The transliteration is mine.

⁹³ Philips 1986, 77–83.

⁹⁴ Now British Museum stela no. 278, Bruyère suggests that this stela probably originated in the sanctuary of Mert Seger at Deir el-Medina (1930, 23–32.)

⁹⁵ I have followed here Bruyère’s 1930, 23–32 analysis, that of Bierbrier 1982, 26–9, Pestman 1982, 155–72, and Davies 1999, 254. I follow Pestman’s convention of marking the second Qenherkhopshef as ‘the younger’ for ease of discussion.

⁹⁶ See the discussion on this term swtwt in reference to visitors’ graffiti in Philips 1986, 80.

⁹⁷ i.e. the Valley of the Queens.

⁹⁸ See the discussion on swḫ⫖ in Hornung 1961, 106–8.

⁹⁹ See Bruyère’s suggestion (1930, 29.1).

¹⁰⁰ The ancient name of Deir el-Bahri.

¹⁰¹ McDowell 1999, 100–1.

¹⁰² Translated from the French of Bruyère 1930, 29.

¹⁰³ My thanks to Annette Zgoll who graciously allowed me access to her manuscript prior to its publication in Welt des Orients 32 (2001).

¹⁰⁴ Urk VII 1.20–2.3.

¹⁰⁵ See for example the Story of Khonsuemhab and the Ghost in von Beckerath 1992. The vision of the ghost has been described by scholars as a dream, but there is no mention of the word dream in the text.

¹⁰⁶ See Spalinger 1992 for a number of festival events and temple rituals associated with the night.

¹⁰⁷ On the progressive sanctioning of popular belief by the official stratum see the discussion in reference to minor deities in Meeks 1971, 17–84.

¹⁰⁸ Baines 1991, 198.

¹⁰⁹ For example, The Stela of Somtutefnakht (Urk II 1–6), Stela of Taimhotep (British Museum 147), The Bentresh Stela (Louvre C 284), ostrakon Brooklyn 37.1821 E, the dream of Neferkasokar (P. Berlin 23071) and in the Book of the Temple, and Setne II (P. British Museum 604 verso).

110 See for example Daumas 1957, 50–7.

¹¹¹ Ray 1976, 130.

¹¹² Otto 1960, II, 6–7.

¹¹³ The seminal work on this ritual remains Otto 1960. Substantial commentary on this work can be found in Helck 1967. An illuminating synopsis of the ritual and its possible relationship to rituals of cult statues in general can be found in Lorton 1999. For the understanding of the ritual according to the Tebtynis texts see the publication in press by Joachim Quack.

¹¹⁴ Bjerke 1965.

¹¹⁵ A recent and thorough discussion of the appearance of scenes from the ritual on stelae can be found in Schulman 1984.

¹¹⁶ Otto 1960, II, 2.

¹¹⁷ Bjerke 1965, 203–4.

¹¹⁸ Published in Sethe 1928.

¹¹⁹ Goyon 1975–92.

¹²⁰ See for example, Roth 1992 and 1993.

¹²¹ Fischer-Elfert 1998.

¹²² Otto 1960, II, 8. Keep in mind, however, that the subject depicted was not limited to a statue, but as mentioned above could also take the form of the anthropoid coffin, depiction of the deceased as living, or even the cartouche.

¹²³ Fischer-Elfert 1998, 9 suggests that this location is the quarry from whence the stone of the statue was hewn.

¹²⁴ Wb IV 373–5; Hannig 1995, 790.

¹²⁵ Ritner 1993, 144–7.

¹²⁶ Hannig 1995, 990, ‘*rutteln Schlafenden’.

¹²⁷ The statue is missing in TT 100, but the space is the correct size for the statue, and it is depicted in the following similar scene.

¹²⁸ The text attestations vary between nn wnj sw jt=k r=k and n wnj sw jt=k r=k.

¹²⁹ For the identification of the spider in this text see Hoffman 1998, 93–105.

¹³⁰ An interesting parallel can be found once in Pyr. §617a–b, ‘Horus has reassembled your members for you, and he will not let you perish; he has put you together, and nothing shall be disturbed in you.’

¹³¹ Helck 1984, 103–4.

¹³² Lorton 1999, 155.

¹³³ Fischer-Elfert 1998.

¹³⁴ See in particular the chart in Fischer-Elfert 1998, 26–7.

¹³⁵ Otto 1960, II, 55.

¹³⁶ Helck 1984, 104.

¹³⁷ For a concise explication of the various altered states of consciousness on a continuum between REM-sleep and possession trance see Bourguignon 1972.

¹³⁸ For the range of definitions, typologies and usages of this term by various authors see Bourguignon 1989.

¹³⁹ See his discussion Fischer-Elfert 1998, 64–72.