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"Tut and the Golden Age' at Franklin Institute
Robert Zaller
God and Mammon in ancient Egypt
(not to mention modern Philadelphia)
ROBERT ZALLER
The boy ruler Tutankhaten, renamed Tutankhamun by his father, Amenhotep IV, who himself had taken the name Akhenaten to signify his identification with the sun god whom he exalted over all other deities in Egypt, ruled for a decade late in the 18th dynasty and died without an heir about 1323 B.C.E. He was mummified, buried in what is now called, Hollywood-style, the Valley of the Kings, and sealed up in his tomb with the paraphernalia he’d need in the afterlife. There he lay undisturbed for more than 3,000 years, while every other royal tomb in Egypt was ransacked.
It may say something about the obscurity of his life, or possibly the circumstances of his death, that he was left so long alone. When Howard Carter dug him up in 1922, the splendor of Tut’s gear astonished the world. Of course, we have no yardstick with which to measure it against the treasure of his peers. His burial chamber may have been very meanly furnished, for all we know.
Tutankhamun’s famous father is said to have attempted to make Aton the sole god of Egypt, although it’s not clear that this was a genuine monotheism. He did apparently shut down the temples of other gods and decreed the sole worship of Aton. Tutankhamun, on the other hand, was praised for restoring the old temples. It’s not hard to read between the lines in this case: The powerful Egyptian priesthood, outraged at its loss of revenue and influence, forced the boy pharaoh to reverse his father’s course. Did Tutankhamun rebel when he reached his majority? Was this rebellion the cause of his early demise? The priests kept the chronicles, and they didn’t say.
A celebrity after death
Tutankhamun’s second life, as King Tut, began with the unearthing of his tomb. It has involved a remarkable career as pitchman and impresario, and as the father of the modern museum blockbuster exhibit, which dates from the original Tut traveling show of 1976-1979. I caught it then in New Orleans, an American city that once existed at the mouth of the Mississippi River. Playing hooky one day from an academic conference, I trekked out to the Art Museum, only to find myself before a line that stretched a good mile or more from its entrance— no one had apparently yet thought of advance sales or timed entries, and Tut was first come, first serve in the Big Easy. It was obvious that I was to be disappointed that day.
I decided to see the rest of the museum instead, only to learn that it was closed but for the Tut galleries. Resigned to perhaps meeting Tut in another life, I was about to go when I noticed someone struggling to enter the museum in a wheelchair, and, gallantly but without thought of gain, I offered my assistance. Before I knew it, the door had closed behind me, and after the briefest tussle with my conscience, I accepted virtue’s reward.
The thrill of discovery
My recollection is that the first Tut exhibition was rather larger than the current one, but neither did more than sample the many hundreds of items catalogued by Carter. Many highlights of the original show are back for an encore: the winged alabaster chalice; the crook and flail; the golden shrine; the child’s throne-chair; the twin trumpets; the canopic jar that preserved Tut’s internal organs; and so on. There are also artifacts from other tombs of the era and, inevitably, a spooky sound-track to give you that Curse of the Mummy feel if great art alone is not enough for you (and even if it is).
Tut’s tomb was woefully cramped, but the Franklin Institute’s galleries give the 130 objects of the show plenty of room, and there’s a connecting passageway, too, that’s perhaps designed to give you the thrill of discovery (although it may remind you of the Hudson Tunnel instead). The 19th Century gave us the religion of art, and the 20th that of commerce. This exhibition is an uneasy blend of both, but certainly its sponsors hope that, if an ancient solar deity is the hook, Mammon will prevail. Be braced, therefore, for the coming Tut avalanche, and don’t be surprised if the boy monarch winds up somewhere on the Democratic ticket in 2008. If he can wow the voters the way he doubtless will the Franklin’s crowds, he’ll be a natural.
To read responses, click here.
(not to mention modern Philadelphia)
ROBERT ZALLER
The boy ruler Tutankhaten, renamed Tutankhamun by his father, Amenhotep IV, who himself had taken the name Akhenaten to signify his identification with the sun god whom he exalted over all other deities in Egypt, ruled for a decade late in the 18th dynasty and died without an heir about 1323 B.C.E. He was mummified, buried in what is now called, Hollywood-style, the Valley of the Kings, and sealed up in his tomb with the paraphernalia he’d need in the afterlife. There he lay undisturbed for more than 3,000 years, while every other royal tomb in Egypt was ransacked.
It may say something about the obscurity of his life, or possibly the circumstances of his death, that he was left so long alone. When Howard Carter dug him up in 1922, the splendor of Tut’s gear astonished the world. Of course, we have no yardstick with which to measure it against the treasure of his peers. His burial chamber may have been very meanly furnished, for all we know.
Tutankhamun’s famous father is said to have attempted to make Aton the sole god of Egypt, although it’s not clear that this was a genuine monotheism. He did apparently shut down the temples of other gods and decreed the sole worship of Aton. Tutankhamun, on the other hand, was praised for restoring the old temples. It’s not hard to read between the lines in this case: The powerful Egyptian priesthood, outraged at its loss of revenue and influence, forced the boy pharaoh to reverse his father’s course. Did Tutankhamun rebel when he reached his majority? Was this rebellion the cause of his early demise? The priests kept the chronicles, and they didn’t say.
A celebrity after death
Tutankhamun’s second life, as King Tut, began with the unearthing of his tomb. It has involved a remarkable career as pitchman and impresario, and as the father of the modern museum blockbuster exhibit, which dates from the original Tut traveling show of 1976-1979. I caught it then in New Orleans, an American city that once existed at the mouth of the Mississippi River. Playing hooky one day from an academic conference, I trekked out to the Art Museum, only to find myself before a line that stretched a good mile or more from its entrance— no one had apparently yet thought of advance sales or timed entries, and Tut was first come, first serve in the Big Easy. It was obvious that I was to be disappointed that day.
I decided to see the rest of the museum instead, only to learn that it was closed but for the Tut galleries. Resigned to perhaps meeting Tut in another life, I was about to go when I noticed someone struggling to enter the museum in a wheelchair, and, gallantly but without thought of gain, I offered my assistance. Before I knew it, the door had closed behind me, and after the briefest tussle with my conscience, I accepted virtue’s reward.
The thrill of discovery
My recollection is that the first Tut exhibition was rather larger than the current one, but neither did more than sample the many hundreds of items catalogued by Carter. Many highlights of the original show are back for an encore: the winged alabaster chalice; the crook and flail; the golden shrine; the child’s throne-chair; the twin trumpets; the canopic jar that preserved Tut’s internal organs; and so on. There are also artifacts from other tombs of the era and, inevitably, a spooky sound-track to give you that Curse of the Mummy feel if great art alone is not enough for you (and even if it is).
Tut’s tomb was woefully cramped, but the Franklin Institute’s galleries give the 130 objects of the show plenty of room, and there’s a connecting passageway, too, that’s perhaps designed to give you the thrill of discovery (although it may remind you of the Hudson Tunnel instead). The 19th Century gave us the religion of art, and the 20th that of commerce. This exhibition is an uneasy blend of both, but certainly its sponsors hope that, if an ancient solar deity is the hook, Mammon will prevail. Be braced, therefore, for the coming Tut avalanche, and don’t be surprised if the boy monarch winds up somewhere on the Democratic ticket in 2008. If he can wow the voters the way he doubtless will the Franklin’s crowds, he’ll be a natural.
To read responses, click here.
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