Similar to the Provincial Pyramids are the pyramids that Egyptologists believe were built not as actual tombs but as cenotaphs, or false tombs. These cenotaphs appear identical in most every way to other pyramids that Egyptologists do regard as tombs, except they were not intended for burial but were merely built as symbolic tombs. And, just as in the pyramids that Egyptologists believe were real tombs, no body of any king or any funerary equipment has ever been found inside any of the false tombs.
So here we have two pyramid types—some small, some large—that were built by the ancient Egyptians and that Egyptologists freely acknowledge were never intended for burial of any sort. Given the fact that neither the Provincial Pyramids nor the cenotaph pyramids were ever intended as tombs, in the absence of any primary evidence, surely the wonder must be that any Egyptologist can assert with any authority that any pyramid was ever intended for the purpose of royal burial.
4. MULTIPLE PYRAMIDS
Related to the issue of the cenotaph pyramids are those pyramids constructed by Sneferu—four in total (three giant pyramids and at least one of the small Provincial Pyramids, the one at Seila). Why would a king require four pyramids, three of which were truly massive? The conventional view assumes that Sneferu desired to build a “true pyramid”; that is, a pyramid with perfectly smooth, sloping sides as opposed to the earlier step pyramid structures. This assumed objective of Sneferu is based on the simple fact that Sneferu didn’t build any more pyramids after finally succeeding in building the world’s first true pyramid, the Red Pyramid at Dahshur. But the fact of the matter is, we simply will never know if Sneferu would have gone on to build any more pyramids, because he died shortly after completing the Red Pyramid.
And then there’s the fact that Sneferu’s first “failure,” the pyramid at Meidum (which some Egyptologists attribute to Huni), was later converted by Sneferu into a true pyramid. So we have to ask: Why did Sneferu need the later Red Pyramid when he obviously could have finished the Meidum pyramid as a true pyramid the first time around? In fact, after his first large pyramid “failure” at Meidum, Sneferu went on to build a second “failure” known as the Bent Pyramid. Conventional wisdom has it that it became apparent to Sneferu’s builders after constructing about two-thirds of this pyramid that its slope angle was much too steep, and so the top third had to be given a shallower incline if it were to be completed safely and not collapse under its own weight. This resulted in the famous bend at the top of this pyramid.
But here’s the thing: if Sneferu had desired a perfect, true pyramid from the outset, as Egyptologists insist, then clearly the Bent Pyramid was never going to satisfy this particular desire. So why then did Sneferu continue to complete this wholly imperfect and undesirable pyramid far beyond its point of “failure”? Sneferu could simply have halted the construction when the problem became known, stripped down the Bent Pyramid, and used the stone from that failed structure to start a new attempt at a true pyramid (assuming that was indeed his goal), and he could have done so secure in the knowledge that he already had a pyramid tomb standing by at Meidum that could be converted to a true pyramid at any time should he die prematurely and be unable to complete his mission.
That Sneferu went on to complete the Bent Pyramid far beyond its point of failure—including fitting casing stones and constructing a causeway and a temple—strongly suggests that the construction of a true pyramid was probably not the only goal of this king and that it seems also to have been Sneferu’s aim to build as many pyramids in his lifetime as he possibly could, albeit some better than others.
All of which begs two obvious questions: Why would an ancient Egyptian king require four (or more) pyramids, and why would he set out to build as many pyramids in his lifetime as he possibly could? If we assume one of these structures was intended as an actual tomb, why would an ancient Egyptian king require two (or three) spare tombs? Does this make sense? Or is there something much more fundamental that we are misunderstanding about the true nature and function of these structures given that so many were built by just one ancient Egyptian king?
5. ANONYMOUS CHAMBERS, NAMELESS SARCOPHAGI
According to Egyptology, relatively few mastaba tombs from the Old Kingdom period or the sarcophagi placed therein were decorated or inscribed, although it is often the case that the chapel attached to the mastaba was usually inscribed with the deceaseds’ names and titles (which is how Egyptologists have been able to piece together much of the family history of this period). While this observation is generally true, it seems that Khufu’s family went a stage further whereby his offspring (including Crown Prince Kawab, who actually died before Khufu) were placing inscriptions (their names and titles) on their actual sarcophagi placed within the mastaba tomb.
Egyptologists speculate that the so-called mortuary temples built onto the pyramids were the equivalent of the chapels attached to the mastabas and that in these places the king’s names and titles would have been inscribed. Alas, however, few pyramid mortuary temples (or valley temples) have survived, thus any evidence of inscriptions of the kings to whom Egyptology attributes the various pyramids is also unavailable. And those fragments that have been found in the area of the pyramid temples cannot be guaranteed to have originated there.
Figure 3.1. Sarcophagus of Kawab (son of Khufu) with inscriptions, Cairo Museum
All of which raises the obvious question: If Khufu’s offspring (including those who died before Khufu) were having their names and titles inscribed directly onto their sarcophagi, why do we find Khufu’s supposed sarcophagus within his pyramid tomb completely devoid of such official inscriptions? Why didn’t Khufu follow this “family tradition” and have his own sarcophagus inscribed with his names and titles?
As stated, Khufu’s eldest son, Kawab, believed to have been the crown prince, died quite young and certainly before Khufu. We find that both his chapel and sarcophagus are inscribed.
An inscription in the doorway of Kawab’s mastaba reads, “Her son, her beloved, Ka-wab, the daughter of her god, she who is in charge of the affairs of the jmAt,*1 Meritites, his mother, who bore (him) to Khufu.”3
Figure 3.2. Sarcophagus of Meresankh II (daughter of Khufu) with inscriptions, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston
Inscriptions are also found on the sarcophagus of Kawab within the mastaba tomb itself: “Priest of Selket, Kawab . . . the king’s son of his body, Kawab . . . king’s eldest son of his body, officiant of Anubis, Kawab.”4
Likewise, the sarcophagus of Khufu’s daughter, Meresankh II, is also inscribed with inscriptions that include her name: “King’s Daughter of his body, Meresankh.”5
And the sarcophagus of Minkhaf I, another son of Khufu, is also rendered with various offering inscriptions that also include his name. As noted in Wikipedia, “Minkhaf held the titles Eldest king’s son of his body, Chief Justice and Vizier and these inscriptions, including his name, were found in four niches within the chapel of his mastaba tomb”6 (italics added).
Clearly then, we see a pattern emerging here regarding the funerary arrangements of Khufu’s children, at least one of whom died before Khufu himself. It seems to have been customary at this time to inscribe hieroglyphic inscriptions—including the deceased’s name and titles—within the adjoining mastaba chapel and directly on the sarcophagus that was placed within the mastaba tomb. In light of such contemporary evidence, it does seem somewhat peculiar that not a single official inscription of the deceased (name or titles) has ever been found in any of the chambers or on any of the sarcophagi of the early, giant pyramids of that era, including Khufu’s Pyramid.
Conventional Egyptology would simply dismiss this anomaly as being down to the individual wishes of the various kings involved. However, this is to ignore a much greater issue here. Given the important role played by the dead king in ancient Egyptian society, the absence of the king’s name anywhere in his supposed funerary structure, including his sarcophagus, presents a most peculiar and even dangerous situation. To understand why this
is so requires a little understanding of ancient Egyptian religious thought.
To the ancient Egyptians, a person’s soul was composed of nine different aspects or elements. While all aspects of the soul were important and interacted with each other, chief among these components were the ka (the life force), the ba (an individual’s personality), and the ren (an individual’s name).
Given that the afterlife at this early period of Egyptian history was reserved only for the king and given what we understand about the symbiotic relationship between the ba and the ren, it seems somewhat peculiar that—unlike some of the mastaba tombs of the time (including those of Khufu’s children, as stated earlier)—we find no official hieroglyphic inscriptions of the reigning king’s name or titles on any sarcophagi or in any of the early, giant pyramids that were supposedly built for these kings as their eternal tombs.
While it was believed that the ka would always remain with the body of the deceased within the tomb, it also was believed that the ba would fly away each day and return to the tomb, its eternal roost, each night, provided, of course, that it could find the correct tomb and mummy to return to. Were the ba to fail in returning to the deceased (for whatever reason), then the king would have been deemed to have died a second time, from which there was no recovery; the king’s soul would be consigned to eternal oblivion, his blissful afterlife forever terminated, thus potentially plunging the kingdom itself into chaos, for the king would no longer be able to commune with the gods on behalf of his people to ensure their continued well-being.
To assist the ba in finding the correct tomb and mummy and in keeping with the ancient Egyptian axiom “He lives whose name is spoken,” the name of the deceased would be inscribed on the walls of his or her tomb and/or on the sarcophagus itself. Inscribing the deceased’s name in stone was to give the name permanence, that the name would become “living words.” In this way the ba would know that it had found the correct tomb and be able to return safely to the correct mummy each and every night, thereby maintaining the king’s place among the gods and safeguarding the future of the kingdom. Indeed, it was believed by the ancient Egyptians that to erase a person’s name—including that of the king (a practice that became known as damnatio memoria)—would condemn the deceased’s soul to eternal oblivion. In the online magazine Egyptological, Brian Alm writes:
Of course, writing demarcated the elite from the rest of society, since it is likely that no more than 1% of the population was ever literate, but in these early times, long before the Afterlife was extended to non-royals, the exclusivity had a more profound meaning than just social standing. Writing would not be used to express ideas and narrative in a grammatical scheme until several centuries later; at this point the written word simply noted the names of things, especially—and very importantly—the names of people.
The all-important name (ren) was associated with the furnishings of the tomb along with the tomb’s owner: the deceased expected to take his treasures with him to his eternal home. The name, one of the nine aspects of being, or manifestations of the self . . . was a magical necessity of existence already acknowledged in the ontology of Predynastic times as a requisite for eternal life.7
Alm also showed the importance of the written word, especially names and titles, by including a photo of the Old Kingdom stele of Nefermaat from the Oriental Institute in Chicago, on which Nefermaat is proclaimed as “king’s eldest son,” “overseer of the works,” and the vizier to Sneferu. The stele’s text says, “He is one who made his signs in writing that cannot be erased.”
And so it seems that for the king to enjoy an everlasting afterlife then his ba must be able to find the correct tomb and mummy each and every night—forever. It goes without saying, but the task of locating the correct pyramid tomb and mummy would have been made immeasurably easier for the king’s ba with the simple inclusion of his name, inscribed as “living words” into the stone of the burial chamber and/or directly on the sarcophagus itself—as was done for the mastaba tombs and sarcophagi of Khufu’s children.
It stands to reason then, that in the complete absence of such vital identifiers inscribed directly on the sarcophagi or within the burial chambers of these pyramids to assist the king’s ba in locating his tomb and mummy, we have to give serious pause for thought and ask whether the early, giant pyramids could have successfully functioned as effective tombs for the kings of this period for whom they were supposedly built. And if the answer to that question is no, then we have to give serious consideration to the possibility that these early, giant pyramids might actually have been conceived and built to serve some other function altogether.
6. PRECONCEIVED, UNIFIED PLAN
Conventional wisdom asserts that each pyramid of ancient Egypt was designed as a single entity, a royal funerary complex, with little consideration given to what had gone before or would come after. In short, there was no grand, preconceived, unified plan for any of the pyramids—so we are led to believe. For Egyptology to ever concede that such a preconceived, unified plan is clearly exhibited in the early, giant pyramids would drive a considerable hole in the pyramid tomb theory, so it is perfectly understandable why Egyptology staunchly resists such notions.
In the previous chapter we observed how the first sixteen or so pyramids in ancient Egypt may have been designed to represent or may have come to represent the sixteen dismembered body parts of Osiris and, in their very placement on the Egyptian landscape, can be shown to resemble a crude outline image of the iconic Osiris figure. But there is considerably more to this grand, unified plan, and it is this second aspect of the planning that may well have been responsible for the association of the god Osiris with the constellation of Orion (i.e., the belt stars).
The three main pyramids at Giza are a prime example of such preconceived, grand planning. In chapter 1, it was stated how the layout of the three Giza pyramids is very similar to the pattern of the Orion’s Belt stars, as proposed by Robert Bauval. What is not so well known is the more recent discovery that the relative proportions of each of the three main Giza pyramids can also be shown to derive—in a simple and systematic fashion—entirely from the pattern of the Orion’s Belt stars shown in step 1 in figure 3.3a. The 16 steps that follow demonstrate the derivation of these proportions (figures 3.3a–3.3d).
Step 1. Plot the belt stars (Al Nitak, Al Nilam, and Mintaka) accurately on a blank sheet of paper.
Step 2. Extend a line (L1) between Al Nitak’s center and Al Nilam’s center.
Step 3. Double the length of L1.
Step 4. From the end of L1, extend a line (L2) to Mintaka’s center.
For steps 5–8, see figure 3.3b.
Step 5. Double the length of L2.
Step 6. Box the L2 diagonal. We now have base B3.
Step 7. Mirror base B3. We now have base B3a.
Step 8. Replicate L1 and label it L3.
Figure 3.3a. Creating the relative proportions of the Giza pyramids from Orion’s Belt, steps 1–4
Figure 3.3b. Creating the relative proportions of the Giza pyramids from Orion’s Belt, steps 5–8
For steps 9–12, see figure 3.3c.
Step 9. Place L3 through the diagonal of B3a.
Step 10. Remove B3a.
Step 11. Extend a line (L4) from the midpoint of L3 to Al Nilam’s center.
Step 12. Double the length of L4.
For steps 13–16, see figure 3.3d.
Step 13. Box the L4 diagonal. We now have base B2.
Step 14. Extend a line (L5) from the endpoint of L3 to Al Nitak’s center.
Step 15. Double the length of L5.
Step 16. Box the L5 diagonal. We now have base B1.
We have now produced the three-base (B1, B2, and B3) geo-stellar fingerprint for Orion’s Belt (step 16). If we compare the relative proportions of these three bases with the relative proportions of the three Giza pyramids (G1, G2, and G3), we find that there is an extremely high agreement between the two sets of bases. It is worth noting here that
were we to have commenced this design technique by drawing the initial line (L1) from Mintaka’s center to Al Nilam’s center we would have ended up with three entirely different bases that in no way match the relative proportions of the Giza pyramids. Only by starting the design with an initial line (L1) drawn from Al Nitak’s center to Al Nilam’s center can three bases be produced that relatively match the three Giza pyramids. This difference is important to understand, and its significance will be revealed in chapter 7.
For the moment, however, what is also significant about the above design method is that it requires the smallest of the Giza pyramids (the pyramid attributed to Menkaure, otherwise denoted as G3) to be designed first in order that the proportions of the other two Giza pyramids, G2 and G1, can then be determined. In other words, the design sequence of the geo-stellar fingerprint is the reverse of the actual construction sequence whereby, according to conventional Egyptology, G3 was built last, even though in the geo-stellar fingerprint of Orion’s Belt, it is designed first. As such this constitutes a preconceived, unified design, a design, it should be said, that also includes the two crucial sets of three smaller satellite pyramids known as the Queens’ Pyramids.
Figure 3.3c. Creating the relative proportions of the Giza pyramids from Orion’s Belt, steps 9–12
Figure 3.3d. Creating the relative proportions of the Giza pyramids from Orion’s Belt, steps 13–16
The Secret Chamber of Osiris: Lost Knowledge of the Sixteen Pyramids Page 7
