The Story of Sinuhe is an originally untitled work of ancient Egyptian literature from the beginning of the 12th Dynasty of the Middle Kingdom (around 1900 BCE). The unknown author of the poem recounts, in the form of a first-person narrative, the presumably fictional life story of the court official Sinuhe.
After the death of King (Pharaoh) Amenemhat I, Sinuhe panics and, following an adventurous escape, eventually settles in the region of Palestine. However, in his old age, he is tormented by homesickness. In fact, Sesostris I invites him to return home, having realized that Sinuhe was not guilty in the death of his father Amenemhat. Sinuhe then returns to Egypt and is received with full honors.
The story has a strong connection to the royal court of Sesostris I and is partly regarded as a form of propaganda intended to emphasize loyalty to the king. Additionally, the identity of being Egyptian, especially when viewed from abroad, and the desire to be buried as an Egyptian seem to play a significant role.
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Most Egyptologists agree that this is a masterpiece of Egyptian literature and the most well-known story from ancient Egypt. However, according to Richard Parkinson, this recognition comes at the expense of other, less accessible works. The story continued to be read and circulated long after its creation. In modern times, it has found its way into literature and the medium of film.
Transmission and Dating of The Story of Sinuhe
The story is currently known from 36 surviving manuscripts (8 papyri and 28 ostraca). All of them date from the Middle or New Kingdom and were written in hieratic script (the cursive form of hieroglyphs) and in the Middle Egyptian language. Most often, it is translated into hieroglyphs through transcriptions. Since 1990, the standard edition has been the one by Roland Koch.
Dating the Origin of The Story of Sinuhe
The events of the Story of Sinuhe conclude in the later years of the reign of Senusret I (who ruled approximately 1956 to 1910 BCE), which provides the earliest possible date of origin (terminus post quem).
The oldest surviving manuscript (Papyrus Berlin 3022) dates about 100 to 150 years later, to the second half of the 12th Dynasty. This provides the latest possible date of origin (terminus ante quem). For content-related reasons, it is generally assumed that the work was composed shortly after the events described, possibly still during the reign of Senusret I or soon afterward.
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Manuscripts of The Story of Sinuhe from the Middle Kingdom
The most complete and likely oldest surviving manuscript of the Story of Sinuhe is Papyrus Berlin 3022 (abbreviated as B). It was probably found in a private tomb in Thebes and dates to the second half of the 12th Dynasty.
Due to a scribal error at the beginning of the manuscript, the reign of a king named Amenemhat is assumed, suggesting it may be either Amenemhat II or Amenemhat III.
Also from Thebes, specifically from a tomb near the later Ramesseum, comes Papyrus Berlin 10499 (abbreviated as R).
Together, papyri B and R provide the full text of the story from beginning to end. The standard citation format for the narrative is based on the line and column division in these two manuscripts (e.g., R1–R24, B1–B311).
However, B and R are more than a century younger than the original composition (which no longer survives), and they differ slightly from that original version.
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The Story of Sinuhe Probably Dates to the Late 12th Dynasty
Two papyrus fragments with only a few lines of text are also believed to date from the late 12th Dynasty. These originate from el-Lahun, located at the eastern entrance to the Fayyum basin, in close proximity to the administrative center of the Middle Kingdom. A large portion of these so-called Lahun papyri was discovered by Flinders Petrie in 1888–89, including possibly Papyrus UC 32106C, although its exact findspot was not recorded. It likely belonged to an archive containing both literary and non-literary texts.
The Story of Sinuhe appears on the verso of the papyrus, while the recto contains an unknown, presumably also literary text.
Papyrus UC 32773 (also known as Papyrus Harageh 1, abbreviated as H) was found in the necropolis of Harageh by Reginald Engelbach and may have come from a tomb.
Another Manuscript of The Story of Sinuhe
Paleographically, the Buenos Aires Papyrus (abbreviated BA), another fragment containing the story, can also be dated to the 12th Dynasty. However, nothing is known about its provenance or how it was acquired.
Manuscripts of The Story of Sinuhe from the New Kingdom
The very fragmentary Moscow Papyrus 4657 (abbreviated G) contains only passages from the beginning of the story. It was allegedly purchased around 1900 by the Russian Egyptologist Vladimir Semionovich Golenishchev in Luxor, but nothing is known about the specific circumstances of its discovery.
Based on content, some scholars have speculated that it might originate from the north of Egypt, possibly Memphis, but its similarity to the papyri from Deir el-Medina suggests that it more likely comes from Thebes. Paleographic analysis dates it to the late 18th or 19th Dynasty.
Another New Kingdom papyrus is the Turin Papyrus CGT 54015, but it has not yet been published.
The 28 ostraca known so far most likely originate primarily from the educational system of the New Kingdom in Western Thebes, specifically from the scribal school of the necropolis workers of Deir el-Medina, although some were found in tombs, including two in the tomb of Sennedjem.
They probably all date to the Ramesside Period. Most contain short writing exercises, usually from the beginning of the story, in which students were meant to practice calligraphy and the structuring (e.g., rubrics and verse points) of a classical text written in classical language.
The only exception is the Ashmolean Ostrakon (abbreviated AOS), which is longer and preserves about 90% of the story on its front and back sides. It may have been stored in an archive and served as a model for students’ writing exercises.
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The only ostrakon that comes from a different location in Western Thebes is the Senenmut Ostrakon 149 (abbreviated S), which was found in the tomb of Senenmut (TT71) near Deir el-Bahari. It therefore dates to the time of Hatshepsut and Thutmose III (early 18th Dynasty).
Other than this, there are no direct witnesses of the story of Sinuhe being studied in the 18th Dynasty, although this is likely due to the limitations of the transmission record. In fact, quotations in tomb inscriptions from this dynasty leave no doubt that the story was widely read during this period.
Moreover, the Ashmolean Ostrakon contains traces of an editorial version that must have been created during the reign of Akhenaten.
Transmission of The Story of Sinuhe into the Late Period
Ludwig D. Morenz considers the story of Sinuhe a prime example of the integration of various themes and styles, and sees it as a genuine “book edition” that was likely already kept in private libraries during the Middle and New Kingdoms. Thus, it was part of general cultural education.
Eberhard Otto describes it as a “didactic piece,” an entertaining “historical” tale that essentially remained relevant at all times, and whose language was always useful to learn as a model of classical forms.
Tradition of The Story of Sinuhe into the Late Period
Among the many ostraca containing quotations from literary texts found in Deir el-Medina, the conventional view is that they are writing exercises by students. However, another interpretation suggests that they are texts written and preserved by educated workers.
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Nevertheless, it seems unlikely that frequently quoted texts such as the Book of Kemit were read purely out of literary interest. Furthermore, some of the literary texts were so heavily distorted that it appears the scribes (or students) did not always fully understand them.
Quotations and allusions in royal and private inscriptions from the second and first millennium BCE show that the story’s popularity was not limited to scribes or to the New Kingdom. Although no additional manuscripts of the Story of Sinuhe have survived from the period after the New Kingdom, the continued transmission of other “classical” works into the 27th Dynasty suggests that Sinuhe was likely still being copied.
The Victory Stela of Piye (Pianchi) from the Kushite 25th Dynasty contains certain allusions to the Story of Sinuhe. The latest known quotation likely comes from the biography of Udja-Hor-Resnet, who lived during the Persian period (525–401 BCE):
“The barbarians (ḫ3stjw) brought me from land to land (m ḫ3st r ḫ3st) and guided me to Egypt, as the Lord of the Two Lands had commanded.”
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The Content of The Story of Sinuhe
At the start of the story, in the style of an autobiographical tomb inscription, Sinuhe’s name and titles are listed as he held them at the end of his life:
The count and prince, the royal seal-bearer of Lower Egypt and sole companion (of the ruler), the judge and administrator in the lands of the Asiatics, the true acquaintance of the king, whom he loves, the follower, Sinuhe (son of the sycamore).
The actual narrative begins with the death of King Amenemhat I on the 7th day of the month Achet III in the 30th year of his reign. The deep sorrow of the people is described, though the cause of the sudden death is not mentioned. However, the description aligns well with the Instruction of Amenemhat, in which Amenemhat I is said to have died from an assassination in the harem.
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The “Crown Prince” Sesostris I is on his return from a military campaign in Libya, which he led as commander, when messengers reach him with the news of his father’s death. Without delay and without informing his army, Sesostris hurries back to the royal residence to manage the succession.
When messengers are also sent to the other royal children to inform them of the king’s death, Sinuhe happens to overhear the news and suddenly flees. He describes in vivid detail his shock and panic, without giving a clear motive for his hasty escape.
His flight takes him through various places and lands. He reaches the border of the Near Eastern region at Wadi Tumilat, where he first hides in a bush out of fear of being seen by a guard, and then at night crosses the border secretly, overcoming the so-called “Walls of the Ruler.”
Shortly afterward, he vividly describes a near-death experience, when he almost dies of thirst and is rescued at the last moment by Bedouins.
Sinuhe then continues his journey to Byblos, until he is taken in by Amunenshi, the ruler of Upper Retjenu (the mountainous region of Syria-Palestine). When Amunenshi asks him about the reason for his flight, Sinuhe replies m jwms, as he calls it—that is, with untruth or half-truth—saying that he does not know what brought him to this foreign land, and that it felt like the plan of a god.
When Amunenshi inquires about the situation in Egypt, Sinuhe launches into a eulogy of King Sesostris, describing him as a heroic warrior, fearless before foreigners, and immensely beloved in his homeland.
But Amunenshi then brings him back to reality:
“Well then, Egypt is doing well, for it knows he is strong. But look—you are here, with me now. What I do for you is good.”
Amunenshi proves to be generous: he appoints Sinuhe as a prince and commander of the army, gives him his daughter in marriage, and grants him a fertile piece of land on the border called Jaa, which Sinuhe describes as a kind of “land of plenty.” Sinuhe starts a family and spends many years living in that land.
A central incident and turning point in the story is Sinuhe’s duel with a local challenger, the Strongman of Retjenu, a nameless man who had already defeated all of Retjenu. This man plans to rob Sinuhe and challenges him to a fight. Sinuhe defeats the Strongman of Retjenu, which brings him even more wealth and prestige.
Ironically, this victory triggers an inner conflict in Sinuhe, and he suddenly feels homesick for Egypt, praying to the gods:
“Surely you will grant me to see the place where my heart dwells! What is greater than that my body be united with the land in which I was born?”
Almost miraculously, Sinuhe’s prayers are answered, and he receives a letter from King Sesostris, who asks him to return to Egypt, affirming that Sinuhe had done nothing wrong.
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In his reply, Sinuhe once again insists on his innocence, stating that he did not flee intentionally, nor of his own free will, but that it happened in a dreamlike state, as though a god had caused it.
Sinuhe then travels south along the Horus Road and arrives at the capital, Itj-tawi. When the king grants him an audience at the palace, Sinuhe throws himself to the ground and experiences a collapse as if facing death:
“I was like a man seized by twilight; my soul had departed, my body was weak, my heart was no longer in my body. I could not distinguish life from death.”
Sinuhe is lifted up, and the queen and royal children are summoned, who once again plead for mercy on his behalf. The king grants this mercy and arranges for Sinuhe to resume his position as a court official.
The king also orders the construction of a stone pyramid for Sinuhe in his pyramid field, which includes, among other things, a statue overlaid with gold.
Form and Stylistics of The Story of Sinuhe
Among Egyptologists, there is broad consensus that the story is written in verse (and not in prose), though opinions differ regarding its precise nature. Gerhard Fecht mainly structured the central section according to his rules of metrics.
A more promising approach seems to be the division of verses based on semantic units. Thus, as in biblical literature, Miriam Lichtheim sees the parallelismus membrorum as a fundamental formal principle.
According to John Foster, the completion of the parallelism is, for the most part, realized within a pair of verses, which he calls a “Thought Couplet.” In this, the idea of a sentence or clause is repeated or expanded upon in the following line using different words.
The following textual example (a description of the land of Jaa) illustrates the division of verses into thought couplets, as performed by John Foster:
“It is a good land; Jaa is its name,
There is nothing like it on earth.
Figs are in it, and grapevines,
(And) it has more wine than water.
Its honey is abundant, its moringa oil trees are numerous,
(And) all kinds of fruits are on its trees.
Barley is in it, and emmer,
There is also no end to its cattle.
Abundant, too, was what came to me,
Together with that which entered because of my popularity.”
Jan Assmann succeeded, on the basis of rubrics preserved in several manuscripts, in working out a superordinate system for dividing the verses. According to this, the text consists of 40 pericopes (larger sections of verses) of varying length, the boundaries of which are determined by rubrics.
Furthermore, the structure can be subdivided into five sections, each comprising eight pericopes: I. The Flight, II. Sinuhe and Amunenshi, III. The Turning Point, IV. The Correspondence between the King and Sinuhe, and V. The Return Home. Assmann reflects on the significance of this division into five sections as follows:
“Sections I, III, and V advance the narrative, following the universal tripartite division of every story into arché (exposition), peripateia (turning point or complication), and lysis (resolution), in three clearly demarcated steps. Sections II and IV slow the narrative down and, in reflective pericopes shaped as (oral and written) dialogue, explore the horizon of meaning of the events. Sections I and V stand in contrast: shameful flight and expulsion from the community, honorable return, and reintegration into Egyptian society. The central section III, with its central pericope emphasized by its exceptional length, contains the climax and turning point of the story: the duel with the ‘Strongman of Retenu’.”
—Jan Assmann
Is The Story of Sinuhe a Historical Account or Literary Fiction?
Outside the literary framework, no evidence for the existence of Sinuhe has yet been found. Although the name “Sinuhe” appears several times in the Middle Kingdom, the Sinuhe of this narrative is not historically traceable.
Nevertheless, it has often been conjectured that he was a historical figure, since the narrative is crafted in the style of an autobiographical tomb inscription. This genre emerged in the officials’ tombs of the Old Kingdom (around 2500 BC) and consisted, on the one hand, of the “career biography,” in which the course of an official’s career can be traced, and on the other, of the “ideal biography,” in which the deceased boasts of his good deeds and which is oriented towards the norm of Maat.
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In the self-presentation of the ideal biography, the individual does not appear as a unique person, but rather as a perfect component in the structure of order implied by the concept of Maat. Since the end of the Old Kingdom (with the collapse of royal central authority), personal achievement came to the forefront of autobiographical accounts.
These reports were expanded, and in addition to the “sapiential discourse of the ideal biography,” more and more historical details appeared, so that they increasingly approached the nature of literary texts.
Most recently, in 1996, Kenneth A. Kitchen put forward the hypothesis that the story of Sinuhe is based on a genuine autobiography, which was copied from the tomb of a Sinuhe in the pyramid complex of Sesostris onto papyrus and subsequently disseminated.
Typical elements of the genre of autobiographical tomb inscriptions include the introduction with titles, name, and the phrase “He says,” followed by a first-person narrative, as well as the embedding of other literary forms such as kingly hymns and royal letters. According to Kitchen, the highly specific references to actual contemporary rulers in Egypt and abroad place the story alongside real adventurers like Harchuf, and—unlike fictional works—there is no “once upon a time” element, no anonymity of the main characters, no vagueness regarding locations, and no fantastical or magical miracles.
However, the narrative goes far beyond the form of an autobiography in its incorporation of other genres, such as lament, private letter, and cult hymn, as well as in its length, style, and intention.
For example, it is about twice as long as the autobiographical inscription of Khnumhotep II at Beni Hasan, which is the longest from the Middle Kingdom. According to Jan Assmann, the narrative presents itself as a copy of an autobiographical tomb inscription in order to take advantage of the literary possibilities inherent in this genre.
In this sense, the tomb is, in many ways, the “pre-school” of literature. The author of the literary text, as a “literary fact,” takes the model of the autobiographical tomb inscription as a “starting type” or an “extra-literary fact.”
In general, for Antonio Loprieno, it is a sign of fictional creation when a text appears outside of its prescribed framework—for example, in Sinuhe, an autobiographical text appears outside the tomb.
Bill Manley suggests that the question of whether Sinuhe is a product of fiction or truth is not particularly important: Even if Sinuhe actually existed, he has been so thoroughly transfigured through literature that only a novelistic figure of his real life remains.
Historical Background of The Story of Sinuhe
The events of the Sinuhe narrative take place at the beginning of the ancient Egyptian 12th Dynasty and have often been used as a historical source for this period. This is not always unproblematic, but the story is not set in a historical vacuum and frequently corresponds with other sources such as the “Teaching of Amenemhet.”
The Story of Sinuhe and the Early 12th Dynasty
Towards the end of the Old Kingdom, the power and independence of the officialdom increased, while the king’s authority steadily diminished. There was a gradual loss of the king’s divine status, and the loss of royal central power (around 2200 BC) eventually ushered in the First Intermediate Period. This was a profound intellectual and political rupture in Egyptian history.
It was not until Mentuhotep II that central authority was restored around 2025 BC, and the Theban 11th Dynasty became the new ruling dynasty. After this relatively short-lived dynasty, Amenemhet IV was succeeded by Amenemhet I as the first king of the 12th Dynasty.
There was now a deliberate effort to recreate, after the model of the Old Kingdom, a kingship that demanded absolute loyalty from the bureaucracy and to reconnect with a time when the monarchy was still an unchallenged divine kingship. Thus, the pyramids were revived as the form of royal tombs, and the royal residence was moved to Itj-tawy near Memphis, the former seat of the Old Kingdom.
A major issue for this new dynasty was the question of legitimation as king, since Amenemhet I was not of royal descent. He began his career at the court of Mentuhotep IV and rose to the position of vizier under him.
It is possible that Mentuhotep IV left no successor, so that Amenemhet I, as the highest-ranking man in the country, ascended the throne, not without opposition, to be sure.
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Coregency of Amenemhet I and Senusret I in The Story of Sinuhe
According to the opinion of some Egyptologists, in his twentieth year of reign, Amenemhet I appointed his son Senusret I as co-regent, and they ruled together on the Egyptian throne for ten years.
The question of coregencies in ancient Egypt in general, and particularly that of Amenemhet I with Senusret I, is among the most controversial topics in Egyptology.
According to the theology and “royal ideology” of the ancient Egyptians, the king is a singular, divine being, and thus can only be conceived as the sole ruler. He governs as the embodiment of Horus on earth and, after his death, merges with Osiris, the ruler of the underworld. Within this concept, it is hardly conceivable that suddenly two Horus falcons would rule simultaneously. On the other hand, from pragmatic considerations, a coregency surely offered many advantages:
“Changes of throne, and thus changes of power, were doubtless in Egypt—as in other Oriental monarchies—very often staged through harem intrigues, murders, and coups, certainly far more often than the few times when our sources report or suggest such events. […] Violent action in connection with succession to the throne was more likely the rule than the exception. Against these dangers, the early coronation of the designated successor, during the lifetime of the old king, offered a certain security: If, at the death of the old ruler, one wanted to make someone other than the legitimate heir king, one would first have to eliminate an already crowned monarch.”
—Karl Jansen-Winkeln
As evidence for or against such a coregency, several passages from the Sinuhe narrative have also been cited. For example, at the beginning, in the account of the Libyan campaign (R 12–13), the name of Senusret I is written in a cartouche, which typically surrounds the name of a king.
In this, Jansen-Winkeln sees proof that Senusret was already ruler at that time. However, according to Claude Obsomer, this is an anachronistic designation, since the narrative was composed at a time when Senusret was already king.
A little later (R 18), Senusret is referred to only as “king’s son” (s3 njswt), which, according to Obsomer, proves that he was not yet king at that point. For Jansen-Winkeln, however, at this point only the function as son is relevant, since the death of the father is being reported.
Another passage from the eulogy of Senusret I is cited by Günter Burkard as an argument against a coregency:
“It is he who subdued the foreign lands, while his father was in his palace. He reports to him the execution of his commands.”
—Sinuhe R73–75
According to Burkard, it is hardly possible for a co-regent to be carrying out orders in this way, and Senusret is depicted here only in his role as son and military commander.
The Assassination of Amenemhet I in The Story of Sinuhe
The account of the death of Amenemhet I at the beginning of the Sinuhe narrative recalls the “Teaching of Amenemhet.” In this text, Amenemhet describes in the style of a posthumously written “testament” how he fell victim to an assassination attempt:
“It was after supper, night had come.
I allowed myself an hour of refreshment,
as I lay on my bed, for I was weary,
and my heart began to surrender itself to sleep.
Then the weapons meant for my protection were turned against me,
while I acted like a serpent in the desert.
I awoke to fight, being immediately alert,
and found that it was a scuffle among the guards.
I hastened, weapons in my hand,
and thus drove the cowards back to their hiding place.
But there is no one who can fight alone,
and a successful deed cannot be accomplished without helpers.”
—Teaching of Amenemhet VI–VII
It is further reported that the assassination took place when Amenemhet was without Senusret, which recalls the Libyan campaign mentioned in Sinuhe. This also fits well with the fact that Sinuhe, a harem official, flees, since Amenemhet apparently fell victim to a harem conspiracy:
“Have women ever raised troops?
Are rebels raised in the palace?”
—Teaching of Amenemhet IX
However, the Teaching of Amenemhet does not report the outcome of the assassination attempt. This has led Egyptologists to different interpretations, particularly in connection with the discussion about coregencies.
According to one view, Amenemhet did not die from an assassination in his 30th regnal year, but rather escaped such an attempt about 10 years before his (natural) death and, as a consequence, established the office of co-regent for his son Senusret. In this scenario, Amenemhet commissioned the Teaching, which describes a “what-if” situation to justify the position of a co-regent.
According to Jansen-Winkeln, Sinuhe’s flight does not contradict this. Sinuhe flees due to a misunderstanding or mishearing amid the unrest; as the story progresses, he repeatedly insists that nothing actually happened and that it was only his own “heart” that misled him.
According to another view, both the Sinuhe narrative and the Teaching of Amenemhet depict the historical circumstances surrounding Amenemhet’s death. The Teaching was commissioned by Senusret after Amenemhet’s death to legitimize his own succession.
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Palestine in the 2nd Millennium BC and The Story of Sinuhe
The Sinuhe narrative, alongside the execration texts, is an important Egyptian source for the political situation in Palestine in the early 2nd millennium BC. After the collapse of the urban centers in the final phase of the Early Bronze Age in this region—presumably mainly due to supply issues—city-states or settled communities had already begun to reemerge, though a nomadic lifestyle, that of pastoral nomadism, continued to exist.
One might imagine a model in which tribes existed alongside cities, i.e., a coexistence of stateless nomadic ways of life and urban forms of government. At least some of the Amorites, for example, were in the process of settling and urbanizing.
Sinuhe also lived among wandering nomads and rulers of well-defined territories. For example, Byblos was a city-state of some significance, but the execration texts also refer to the tribe of Byblos. Sinuhe lived in a tent, and even the description of the Strongman of Retjenu carries a Bedouin flavor. Apart from Byblos, the author of the Sinuhe narrative mentions no cities, even though urban culture was just beginning to flourish again at the time of the story’s composition.
According to Ludwig Morenz, this was intended to further emphasize the contrast between Egypt and Palestine, portraying the foreign land as uncivilized. For this purpose, the narrative draws on historical and local color from Palestine.
For the first time in the Sinuhe narrative, the term Ḥq3-ḫ3swt (“Ruler of Foreign Lands”) appears (Sinuhe B98), generally referred to as the Hyksos. In the Middle Kingdom, this expression referred to a specific group in the population of the Palestinian region.
Later, it denoted kings of Asiatic origin who ruled over Egypt from about 1650 to 1542 BC. According to Ludwig Morenz, the “Rulers of Foreign Lands” in the Sinuhe narrative are established rulers who, at the time of the region’s sedentarization, were distinct from the wandering nomads.
Interpretations of The Story of Sinuhe
The Story of Sinuhe as Political Literature
In a subtle analysis in 1956, Georges Posener identified a group of works from the older, “classical” literature as political literature—“as literature intended to legitimize the young, legitimacy-seeking 12th Dynasty.”
At the beginning of the 12th Dynasty, the kings faced the challenge of restoring the prestige of the office and establishing a kingship defined, as in the Old Kingdom, by the absolute loyalty of the subjects.
Therefore, the texts of this dynasty have occasionally been described as “propaganda literature,” serving as a medium for propagandistic purposes that repeatedly emphasize the golden virtue: loyalty to the king.
Posener used the term “propaganda” very cautiously, being aware of how loaded and ambiguous it is. William Kelly Simpson uses the term “maintenance propaganda,” meaning propaganda intended to maintain the status quo of the political and religious situation, rather than to change it.
Thus, most of these texts were probably written with the intention “to demonstrate, against the timeless backdrop of jzf.t vs. m3ˁ.t (‘chaos vs. order’), the present as the best of all worlds.”
In this context, Georges Posener also recognizes a strong connection between the Sinuhe narrative and the royal court of Senusret I, though he is cautious in judging whether it is a work of political propaganda: Although the person of Senusret I plays a major role in the story, and the narrative arises from the court’s milieu, it cannot be said with certainty that it is a work of political propaganda.
The author expresses his convictions and feelings authentically, without special rhetorical devices aimed at influencing the reader. According to Posener, it is rather the honesty and warmth of the writer that make the narrative a work capable of bringing the concept of kingship to the reader’s attention.
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Text-Immanent Interpretation of The Story of Sinuhe
After Georges Posener’s groundbreaking analysis explored the political tendency and thus the extraliterary purpose of the text, John Baines noted in 1982 that, despite the breadth of writing on Egyptian literature, approaches commonly used in other literary fields had been little applied to it thus far.
He subjected the Sinuhe narrative, in parts and from varying perspectives, to an in-depth text-immanent interpretation. In doing so, he considered the text as an autonomous work of literature, more or less detached from temporal, geographical, and political references, but also emphasized that this mode of analysis is not exclusive, but stands alongside many others.
In summary, Baines arrived at the following assessment:
“Scrutiny of the narrative structure and the presentation of character in Sinuhe does identify considerable complexity, analogous with the richness of the text in style and vocabulary; it also brings out the relationship of the text with Egyptian values. Techniques of analysis that are applied to western literature seem to yield results with Sinuhe, but reveal alien preoccupations and emphases, as is only to be expected. Such analyses do not seek to discover a single, correct understanding or author’s intention in a text, but to deepen our comprehension of its meaning.”
“The close examination of the narrative structure and the depiction of the characters in Sinuhe reveals considerable complexity, analogous to the richness of the text in style and vocabulary; it also brings to light the text’s relationship with Egyptian values. Analytical techniques used in Western literature seem to produce results with Sinuhe, but also reveal foreign concerns and emphases, as is only to be expected. Such analysis does not aim to determine a single, correct understanding or authorial intention, but rather to deepen our understanding of its meaning.”
—John Baines: Interpreting Sinuhe
The Story of Sinuhe as Literature of Dispute (Auseinandersetzungsliteratur)
According to older scholarship, “literature of dispute” refers to texts that attempted to cope with the crisis of the First Intermediate Period following the collapse of the Old Kingdom. For example, the Admonitions of Ipuwer describes, in many expressions, the catastrophic state in which the country found itself.
More recent research, however, tends to date the literature of dispute later, at the earliest to the late 11th Dynasty, but more likely to the 12th Dynasty. Therefore, the texts do not describe a historical situation. Dorothea Sitzler concludes that there are no authentic textual testimonies of personal extreme situations at any point; rather, they are part of a body of literature developed for wisdom teachers to reflect on the role of wisdom and the sage in the world.
The Sinuhe narrative occupies certain positions in the discourse of the literature of dispute. It, too, addresses the question of the relationship between divine destiny (determinism) and the individual’s free will. Thus, Sinuhe justifies his actions at various points as being due to divine ordination and inspiration, claiming that a god drove him to flee—an argument he also uses to be readmitted to the court of Senusret I.
For Winfried Barta, the question of freedom and determination in the Sinuhe narrative ends in a compromise: In Sinuhe, there is neither absolute determination of a person by God nor absolute free will.
The topos of the “accusation against God,” as found in the literature of dispute, appears in the Sinuhe narrative only implicitly and concealed, as ultimately God is held responsible for Sinuhe’s flight and years-long stay abroad.
For Elke Blumenthal, the text does not raise a “charge against God,” but rather pragmatically demonstrates how the individual (official) can prove himself in the fate allotted to him and, in direct turning to the deity, can influence it.
Ptah-Sokar-Osiris: The God Who Was Three
The Story of Sinuhe as an Experience Abroad
The sedentary Egyptians emigrated only in the most involuntary of circumstances. The ideal was the image of the scribe in the safety of his office. Thus, the story of Sinuhe also shows how, from an Egyptian perspective, the wanderer always leads an existence on the margins—outside the ordered world and constantly in danger of losing his roots.
The narratives of the Middle Kingdom draw a clear contrast between “Egypt” and the “foreign land.” Most striking is the distinction between the center, often identified with the royal residence, and the periphery, the place where the protagonist undergoes a psychological and intellectual transition.
Antonio Loprieno, in particular, has emphasized the significant role of the vastness of the foreign land in the narrative, which serves to facilitate an experience of otherness and a process of self-determination. Topical statements about figures from foreign lands create a thematic context, a frame of reference within which the literary technique of mimesis engages in a cultural encounter with the Other.
Accordingly, Sinuhe stands at the beginning of a series of such realistic travel narratives, such as the Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor, the travel account of Wenamun, and the Odyssey of Wermai.
He goes into exile voluntarily, in order to undergo, over the course of several years, a process of self-awareness and human development through the mirror of the Other—in the form of the foreign character Amunenshi—and to come to an understanding of his own Egyptian identity. At the end of this experience abroad stands the realization that his existence can only be fulfilled in the role of “the Egyptian.”
Gerald Moers takes the interpretation even further, reading Sinuhe’s journey as a crossing of boundaries. Sinuhe must transgress the limits of Egyptian norms and detach himself from the requirements of a righteous way of life according to the concept of Maat: both the Maat model and the associated concept of identity suddenly stand on a “horizon of unfamiliar classification” and, in this way, become subject to individual questioning by the hero.
The other world (the foreign land) thus becomes a mirror for the hero’s own world (Egypt). These two worlds are so sharply distinguished in the narrative that the transition from one to the other is experienced only as a death-like dream state, and self-discovery also takes place in a dreamlike condition.
This more recent interpretation emphasizes the fictional status and cultural function over the political intention. The creation of possible or even alternative worlds contributes to a sense of identity security for the readership.
