"Answer not a man when he is wroth, but remove thyself from him. Speak gently to him that hath spoken in anger, for soft words are the medicine for his heart.
"Seek silence for thyself."
For the study of the moral character of the ancient Egyptian, a document, of which a mutilated copy is found on a papyrus preserved in the Royal Library in Berlin, is of peculiar importance. As the opening lines are wanting it is impossible to know what the title of the work was, but because the text records a conversation that took place between a man who had suffered grievous misfortunes, and was weary of the world and of all in it, and wished to kill himself, it is generally called the "Talk of a man who was tired of life with his soul." The general meaning of the document is clear. The man weary of life discusses with his soul, as if it were a being wholly distinct from himself, whether he shall kill himself or not. He is willing to do so, but is only kept from his purpose by his soul's observation that if he does there will be no one to bury him properly, and to see that the funerary ceremonies are duly performed. This shows that the man who was tired of life was alone in the world, and that all his relations and friends had either forsaken him, or had been driven away by him. His soul then advised him to destroy himself by means of fire, probably, as has been suggested, because the ashes of a burnt body would need no further care. The man accepted the advice of his soul, and was about to follow it literally, when the soul itself drew back, being afraid to undergo the sufferings inherent in such a death for the body. The man then asked his soul to perform for him the last rites, but it absolutely refused to do so, and told him that it objected to death in any form, and that it had no desire at all to depart to the kingdom of the dead. The soul supports its objection to suffer by telling the man who is tired of life that the mere remembrance of burial is fraught with mourning, and tears, and sorrow. It means that a man is torn away from his house and thrown out upon a hill, and that he will never go up again to see the sun. And after all, what is the good of burial? Take the case of those who have had granite tombs, and funerary monuments in the form of pyramids made for them, and who lie in them in great state and dignity. If we look at the slabs in their tombs, which have been placed there on purpose to receive offerings from the kinsfolk and friends of the deceased, we shall find that they are just as bare as are the tablets for offerings of the wretched people who belong to the Corvée, of whom some die on the banks of the canals, leaving one part of their bodies on the land and the other in the water, and some fall into the water altogether and are eaten by the fish, and others under the burning heat of the sun become bloated and loathsome objects. Because men receive fine burials it does not follow that offerings of food, which will enable them to continue their existence, will be made by their kinsfolk. Finally the soul ends its speech with the advice that represented the view of the average Egyptian in all ages, "Follow after the day of happiness, and banish care," that is to say, spare no pains in making thyself happy at all times, and let nothing that concerns the present or the future trouble thee.
This advice, which is well expressed by the words which the rich man spake to his soul, "Take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry" (St. Luke xii. 19), was not acceptable to the man who was tired of life, and he at once addressed to his soul a series of remarks, couched in rhythmical language, in which he made it clear that, so far as he was concerned, death would be preferable to life. He begins by saying that his name is more detested than the smell of birds on a summer's day when the heavens are hot, and the smell of a handler of fish newly caught when the heavens are hot, and the smell of water-fowl in a bed of willows wherein geese collect, and the smell of fishermen in the marshes where fishing hath been carried on, and the stench of crocodiles, and the place where crocodiles do congregate. In a second group of rhythmical passages the man who was tired of life goes on to describe the unsatisfactory and corrupt condition of society, and his wholesale condemnation of it includes his own kinsfolk. Each passage begins with the words, "Unto whom do I speak this day?" and he says, "Brothers are bad, and the friends of to-day lack love. Hearts are shameless, and every man seizeth the goods of his neighbour. The meek man goeth to ground (i.e. is destroyed), and the audacious man maketh his way into all places. The man of gracious countenance is wretched, and the good are everywhere treated as contemptible. When a man stirreth thee up to wrath by his wickedness, his evil acts make all people laugh. One robbeth, and everyone stealeth the possessions of his neighbour. Disease is continual, and the brother who is with it becometh an enemy. One remembereth not yesterday, and one doeth nothing ... in this hour. Brothers are bad.... Faces disappear, and each hath a worse aspect than that of his brother. Hearts are shameless, and the man upon whom one leaneth hath no heart. There are no righteous men left, the earth is an example of those who do evil. There is no true man left, and each is ignorant of what he hath learnt. No man is content with what he hath; go with the man [you believe to be contented], and he is not [to be found]. I am heavily laden with misery, and I have no true friend. Evil hath smitten the land, and there is no end to it."
The state of the world being thus, the man who was tired of life is driven to think that there is nothing left for him but death; it is hopeless to expect the whole state of society to change for the better, therefore death must be his deliverer. To his soul he says, "Death standeth before me this day, [and is to me as] the restoration to health of a man who hath been sick, and as the coming out into the fresh air after sickness. Death standeth before me this day like the smell of myrrh, and the sitting under the sail of a boat on a day with a fresh breeze. Death standeth before me this day like the smell of lotus flowers, and like one who is sitting on the bank of drunkenness.[1] Death standeth before me this day like a brook filled with rain water, and like the return of a man to his own house from the ship of war. Death standeth before me this day like the brightening of the sky after a storm, and like one.... Death standeth before me this day as a man who wisheth to see his home once again, having passed many years as a prisoner." The three rhythmical passages that follow show that the man who was tired of life looked beyond death to a happier state of existence, in which wrong would be righted, and he who had suffered on this earth would be abundantly rewarded. The place where justice reigned supreme was ruled over by Rā, and the man does not call it "heaven," but merely "there."[2] He says, "He who is there shall indeed be like unto a loving god, and he shall punish him that doeth wickedness. He who is there shall certainly stand in the Boat of the Sun, and shall bestow upon the temples the best [offerings]. He who is there shall indeed become a man of understanding who cannot be resisted, and who prayeth to Rā when he speaketh." The arguments in favour of death of the man who was tired of life are superior to those of the soul in favour of life, for he saw beyond death the "there" which the soul apparently had not sufficiently considered. The value of the discussion between the man and his soul was great in the opinion of the ancient Egyptian because it showed, with almost logical emphasis, that the incomprehensible things of "here" would be made clear "there."
[1] i.e. sitting on a seat in a tavern built on the river bank.
[2] Compare,
"There the tears of earth are dried;
There its hidden things are clear;
There the work of life is tried
By a juster judge than here."
—Hymns Ancient and Modern, No. 401.
The man who was tired of life did not stand alone in his discontent with the surroundings in which he lived, and with his fellow-man, for from a board inscribed in hieratic in the British Museum (No. 5645) we find that a priest of Heliopolis called Khakhepersenb, who was surnamed Ānkhu, shared his discontent, and was filled with disgust at the widespread corruption and decadence of all classes of society that were everywhere in the land. In the introduction to this description of society as he saw it, he says that he wishes he possessed new language in which to express himself, and that he could find phrases that were not trite in which to utter his experience. He says that men of one generation are very much like those of another, and have all done and said the same kind of things. He wishes to unburden his mind, and to remove his moral sickness by stating what he has to say in words that have not before been used. He then goes on to say, "I ponder on the things that have taken place, and the events that have occurred throughout the land. Things have happened, and they are different from those of last year. Each year is more wearisome than the last. The whole country is disturbed and is going to destruction. Justice (or right) is thrust out, injustice (or sin) is in the council hall, the plans of the gods are upset, and their behests are set aside. The country is in a miserable state, grief is in every place, and both towns and provinces lament. Every one is suffering through wrong-doing. All respect of persons is banished. The lords of quiet are set in commotion. When daylight cometh each day [every] face turneth away from the sight of what hath happened [during the night].... I ponder on the things that have taken place. Troubles flow in to-day, and to-morrow [tribulations] will not cease. Though all the country is full of unrest, none will speak about it. There is no innocent man [left], every one worketh wickedness. Hearts are bowed in grief. He who giveth orders is like unto the man to whom orders are given, and their hearts are well pleased. Men wake daily [and find it so], yet they do not abate it. The things of yesterday are like those of to-day, and in many respects both days are alike. Men's faces are stupid, and there is none capable of understanding, and none is driven to speak by his anger.... My pain is keen and protracted. The poor man hath not the strength to protect himself against the man who is stronger than he. To hold the tongue about what one heareth is agony, but to reply to the man who doth not understand causeth suffering. If one protesteth against what is said, the result is hatred; for the truth is not understood, and every protest is resented. The only words which any man will now listen to are his own. Every one believes in his own.... Truth hath forsaken speech altogether."
Whether the copy of the work from which the above extracts is taken be complete or not cannot be said, but in any case there is no suggestion on the board in the British Museum that the author of the work had any remedy in his mind for the lamentable state of things which he describes. Another Egyptian writer, called Apuur, who probably flourished a little before the rule of the kings of the twelfth dynasty, depicts the terrible state of misery and corruption into which Egypt had fallen in his time, but his despair is not so deep as that of the man who was tired of his life or that of the priest Khakhepersenb. On the contrary, he has sufficient hope of his country to believe that the day will come when society shall be reformed, and when wickedness and corruption shall be done away, and when the land shall be ruled by a just ruler. It is difficult to say, but it seems as if he thought this ruler would be a king who would govern Egypt with righteousness, as did Rā in the remote ages, and that his advent was not far off. The Papyrus in which the text on which these observations are based is preserved in Leyden, No. 1344. It has been discussed carefully by several scholars, some of whom believe that its contents prove that the expectation of the coming of a Messiah was current in Egypt some forty-five centuries ago. The following extracts will give an idea of the character of the indictment which Apuur drew up against the Government and society of his day, and which he had the temerity to proclaim in the presence of the reigning king and his court. He says: "The guardians of houses say, 'Let us go and steal.' The snarers of birds have formed themselves into armed bands. The peasants of the Delta have provided themselves with bucklers. A man regardeth his son as his enemy. The righteous man grieveth because of what hath taken place in the country. A man goeth out with his shield to plough. The man with a bow is ready [to shoot], the wrongdoer is in every place. The inundation of the Nile cometh, yet no one goeth out to plough. Poor men have gotten costly goods, and the man who was unable to make his own sandals is a possessor of wealth. The hearts of slaves are sad, and the nobles no longer participate in the rejoicings of their people. Men's hearts are violent, there is plague everywhere, blood is in every place, death is common, and the mummy wrappings call to people before they are used. Multitudes are buried in the river, the stream is a tomb, and the place of mummification is a canal. The gentle folk weep, the simple folk are glad, and the people of every town say, 'Come, let us blot out these who have power and possessions among us.' Men resemble the mud-birds, filth is everywhere, and every one is clad in dirty garments. The land spinneth round like the wheel of the potter. The robber is a rich man, and [the rich man] is a robber. The poor man groaneth and saith, 'This is calamity indeed, but what can I do?' The river is blood, and men drink it; they cease to be men who thirst for water. Gates and their buildings are consumed with fire, yet the palace is stable and nourishing. The boats of the peoples of the South have failed to arrive, the towns are destroyed, and Upper Egypt is desert. The crocodiles are sated with their prey, for men willingly go to them. The desert hath covered the land, the Nomes are destroyed, and there are foreign troops in Egypt. People come hither [from everywhere], there are no Egyptians left in the land. On the necks of the women slaves [hang ornaments of] gold, lapis-lazuli, silver, turquoise, carnelian, bronze, and abhet stone. There is good food everywhere, and yet mistresses of houses say, 'Would that we had something to eat.' The skilled masons who build pyramids have become hinds on farms, and those who tended the Boat of the god are yoked together [in ploughing]. Men do not go on voyages to Kepuna (Byblos in Syria) to-day. What shall we do for cedar wood for our mummies, in coffins of which priests are buried, and with the oil of which men are embalmed? They come no longer. There is no gold, the handicrafts languish. What is the good of a treasury if we have nothing to put in it? Everything is in ruins. Laughter is dead, no one can laugh. Groaning and lamentation are everywhere in the land. Egyptians have turned into foreigners. The hair hath fallen out of the head of every man. A gentleman cannot be distinguished from a nobody. Every man saith, 'I would that I were dead,' and children say, '[My father] ought not to have begotten me.' Children of princes are dashed against the walls, the children of desire are cast out into the desert, and Khnemu[1] groaneth in sheer exhaustion. The Asiatics have become workmen in the Delta. Noble ladies and slave girls suffer alike. The women who used to sing songs now sing dirges. Female slaves speak as they like, and when their mistress commandeth they are aggrieved. Princes go hungry and weep. The hasty man saith, 'If I only knew where God was I would make offerings to Him.' The hearts of the flocks weep, and the cattle groan because of the condition of the land. A man striketh his own brother. What is to be done? The roads are watched by robbers, who hide in the bushes until a benighted traveller cometh, when they rob him. They seize his goods, and beat him to death with cudgels. Would that the human race might perish, and there be no more conceiving or bringing to the birth! If only the earth could be quiet, and revolts cease! Men eat herbs and drink water, and there is no food for the birds, and even the swill is taken from the mouths of the swine. There is no grain anywhere, and people lack clothes, unguents, and oil. Every man saith, 'There is none.' The storehouse is destroyed, and its keeper lieth prone on the ground. The documents have been filched from their august chambers, and the shrine is desecrated. Words of power are unravelled, and spells made powerless. The public offices are broken open and their documents stolen, and serfs have become their own masters. The laws of the court-house are rejected, men trample on them in public, and the poor break them in the street. Things are now done that have never been done before, for a party of miserable men have removed the king. The secrets of the Kings of the South and of the North have been revealed. The man who could not make a coffin for himself hath a large tomb. The occupants of tombs have been cast out into the desert, and the man who could not make a coffin for himself hath now a treasury. He who could not build a hut for himself is now master of a habitation with walls. The rich man spendeth his night athirst, and he who begged for the leavings in the pots hath now brimming bowls. Men who had fine raiment are now in rags, and he who never wore a garment at all now dresseth in fine linen. The poor have become rich, and the rich poor. Noble ladies sell their children for beds. Those who once had beds now sleep on the ground. Noble ladies go hungry, whilst butchers are sated with what was once prepared for them. A man is slain by his brother's side, and that brother fleeth to save his own life."
[1] The god who fashioned the bodies of men.