The Old Kingdom came to an end for reasons that are still obscure, although there are several references in the sources to food shortages. These may have been either the symptom or the cause of the political anarchy which has earned this interlude the name of the First Intermediate Period. During this period two power centers competed for dominance - Herakleopolis in Middle Egypt and Thebes further south. Thebes, a small town which had been quite obscure during the Old Kingdom, emerged victorious from this conflict.
The Middle Kingdom imitates the Old Kingdom in many respects, but it never forgot that things could go wrong and that regimes could falter. Spiritually and culturally, a chillier wind is now blowing. There is a certain resemblance with a civilization which also referred to itself as a Middle Kingdom, namely China. The visual art of the period is some of the finest that Egypt ever produced, and it is a favorite with connoisseurs because of its elegance combined with austerity. But the hand of the state weighs heavier than it did in the Old Kingdom, and there are no more letters like the one Isesi wrote to Rashepses. The careworn faces of the monarchs of the Twelfth Dynasty are deliberately recorded by sculptors, to emphasize the weight of responsibility which accompanies authority. The kings are still buried in pyramids, but the interiors of these are complex, with blind alleys and hidden entrances designed in vain to foil robbers. The town of Thebes was too provincial a place to remain as the seat of government. However, the capital of the Old Kingdom, Memphis, is no longer favored, and a new capital was constructed some 50 kilometers to the south, on a virgin site. It is as if the old regime could not be trusted. One of the most characteristic compositions of the period is a discourse from the first king of the Twelfth Dynasty, Amenemhat I, who has died following an assassination attempt, giving his political testimony to his son and heir, Sesostris (Parkinson 1997: 203-11). It is a text about survival, from someone who has not survived.
The potential instability of politics was the reason why the new dynasty resorted to the practice of co-regencies. This was begun by the same Amenemhat I, who for the last decade of his reign shared the throne with his son Sesostris I, with the latter concentrating on foreign affairs and military expeditions while his father applied himself to domestic policy and constructing his architectural legacy. The pattern was repeated throughout the dynasty, and was one of the reasons for its successful longevity (Simpson 1963; Murnane 1977).
The Middle Kingdom was recognized as a classic age by the Egyptians themselves. The phase of the language which was in use at this time became canonical, in a way that the language of the Old Kingdom never did. Middle Egyptian, as this stage is called, was still in use for formal inscriptions down to the Roman period, and the hieroglyphic register of the Rosetta Stone, which dates from 196 BC, is composed in Middle Egyptian. A principal reason for this veneration of Middle Egyptian is the quality of the texts which were produced in it. It is no coincidence that many of the greatest works of Egyptian literature make their appearance during the Twelfth Dynasty: the point is that the regime itself was involved with the creation of that literature. Eloquence and persuasion were a major tool for gaining hearts and minds, and literature which emphasized the qualities of the dynasty and its concern for the well-being of its subjects was deliberately fostered (this theme and its implications are incomparably explored in Posener 1957). The Old Kingdom, after all, was thought to have failed because it lacked empathy and persuasion, though one wonders what the vizier Rashepses would have thought of this generalization. Similarly, King Pepi II of the Old Kingdom (the one who wrote the letter about the dancing pygmy) could later be portrayed as having a nocturnal affair with one of his generals, while the builder of the Great Pyramid is characterized in another tale as an arbitrary tyrant who foreshadows Herod the Great when he hears that future kings are about to be born (Parkinson 1991: 54-56 and 1997: 102-27). The implication was that the previous regime had come to grief through moral deficiency. This was a mistake which its Theban successor had no intention of repeating.
The somber tone of some Middle-Kingdom literature is well captured in a remarkable dialogue between a man and his own soul, which is often known by its German byname, the Lebensmude. The theme is about the futility of life, and the man contemplates suicide. The soul seeks to restrain him, with a variety of arguments, including a parable about a mother and her children who come to grief by a pool. The soul observes that life of a sort must be better than no life at all:
I do not mourn for the mother, even though she has no way out of the West [the next
World] to live on earth another time, but I think about her children, broken in the egg,
Who looked upon the face of the Crocodile [death] before they had lived.
The psychological content, and the imagery, of this remarkable work should earn it a place among modern audiences (Parkinson 1997: 151-65).
The Tale of Sinuhe is recognized as one of the most powerful works of this period. It resembles a short novella rather than a conventional tale, and it was admired, among others, by Rudyard Kipling. Sinuhe is a courtier who overhears a conspiracy against the crown prince, Sesostris I, while on an expedition against the Libyans. Fear of being implicated leads him into flight, and he finds himself among the Bedouin of Palestine. Eventually he finds a promised land, where he settles and raises a family. His life among the Asiatics is a success, and the portrayal of his foreign hosts is sympathetic. But he needs to be reconciled with his home and his king, and to be buried where he began. The tale is about fragmentation, and the necessity of being made whole again. It also makes the point that an alien life is possible, perhaps pleasurable, but it is not a complete one. Only Pharaoh can grant that (Parkinson 1997: 21-53).
A text found inscribed on coffins in the early part of the Middle Kingdom can stand as the epitome of one of the period’s main themes, the question of moral responsibility:
Words spoken by Him whose names are hidden. The Lord of the Universe says in the presence of those who still the tempest, at the time when the conclave sets sail, “Proceed in peace. I shall recall to you four good deeds that my heart devised when I was in the coils of the serpent, in order to overcome evil. I did four deeds within the portals of the horizon. I made the four winds, that every man might breathe, wherever he may be. That is one deed. I made the great inundation, that the bereft might share in it like the great. That is one deed. I made every man like his fellow; I did not command them to do evil, but it was their own hearts which overthrew what I devised. That is one deed.
I made their hearts cease from ignoring the West, so that offerings might be made to the gods of the provinces. That too is one deed. I created the gods from my sweat, and men are the tears of my eye. . .”
This preoccupation with human worth surfaces in other works. In the Teaching for King Merikare, a king who is a source of expert advice about how to rule is also great enough to admit that offences had happened during his reign. The fact that this narrator is located safely in the past is important, because a ruling king would not have been free to confess in this way (Parkinson 1997: 211-34). A similar theme emerges from the Story of the Eloquent Peasant, in which the eponymous peasant suffers injustice at the hands of an unscrupulous official, but eventually, and after long examples of the eloquence that he possesses, gains the justice he has been denied (Parkinson 1997: 54-88).
The Middle Kingdom did not last for ever, as its founders had no doubt intended, but it is in many ways the classic age of ancient Egypt, and one to which later ages deferred and wished to return.
World History
