THE TWO FALLS OF MA’AT: FROM USERKARE TO HOREMHEB – WHEN KEMET FORGOT THE HYMN TO HAPY
The Voice of Aye, Last Priest-Pharaoh of the Black Lands
BY: OMOLAJA MAKINEE
In the sacred time when the breath of the gods still stirred the sands of Kemet, power was never merely the inheritance of men—it was the reflection of divine order. To rule was to maintain Ma’at, the cosmic harmony that bound gods, mortals, and the land in unbroken rhythm. The throne was not a seat of possession but of stewardship, linking the Pharaoh to the eternal covenant of the Black Lands.
The First Fall: The Usurpation of Userkare and the Rise of Pepi I
After the reign of Pharaoh Teti, beloved of the gods and upholder of balance, the divine order trembled. Teti’s untimely and secretive death shattered the serenity of the Great House. In the void that followed, one of his own officials, Userkare, stepped forth—not by right, but by cunning.
Userkare bore neither royal blood nor divine sanction. No priest anointed him, no oracle pronounced his name. Yet through ambition, he seized the double crown of Upper and Lower Kemet and sat upon the throne that was never meant for him. His reign was brief—barely two years—marked not by temples or harmony but by silence. No pyramid rose for him; no hymns carried his memory into the afterlife.
The scribes of later dynasties erased him from the Pharaohs Lists. His name was omitted from the sacred records, for the gods themselves denied him remembrance. He was the first to grasp divine power through mortal will—and in doing so, broke the first covenant of Ma’at.
When his line withered, the balance was restored through Pepi I, the true heir of divine and priestly blood, son of Great Royal Wife Iput and descendant of Teti. Pepi I’s reign of forty years reestablished order. He honoured Ra, Ptah, and Ma’at, expanded the borders of Kemet, and revived the old rites. The gods smiled once more, and the Nile flowed in rhythm with creation.
Yet the lesson of Userkare endured—a warning carved in silence: divine power cannot be seized; it must be bestowed. When bloodlines falter, the priesthood inherits the right to guide the next ruler, for they hold the living memory of the gods.
The gods remember. The land remembers. And history does not forgive the breakers of Ma’at.
The Second Fall: Horemheb and the Lost Legacy of Kemet
Centuries passed. Dynasties rose and waned like the breath of Ra upon the horizon. But in the twilight of the 18th Dynasty, Kemet once again stood before the same abyss.
After the death of the boy-Pharaoh Tutankhamun, I, Aye—the high priest and vizier turned Deputy Pharaoh who had guided him—ascended the throne not by ambition but by divine ordination. Through my marriage to Ankhesenamun, daughter of Akhenaten and Nefertiti, the royal line remained unbroken. I named my son, Nakhtmin, heir to the throne—a prince of priestly descent and rightful successor by sacred law. The gods approved, and the covenant held.
But ambition, once exiled, found its way back through the gates of power. From the ranks of the army rose Horemheb, my former ally and the boy-Pharaoh’s general. Though born of no royal line and anointed by no divine oracle, Horemheb sought the throne. He believed that through strength of command he could govern as Pharaoh, yet power without Ma’at is but chaos disciplined by fear.
To secure legitimacy, Horemheb forced union with my daughter, Mutnodjmet and bearer of my blood. He thought by binding himself to the priestly house of Aye he could claim divine right through mortal marriage. But the gods are not deceived. Mutnodjmet’s womb remained closed, and her silence became the judgment of the cosmos.
Her barrenness was not a curse, but a covenant restored—an answer to broken vows. For her heart still beat with loyalty to her brother Nakhtmin, whom Horemheb had exiled to preserve his own claim. In exile, Nakhtmin carried the true flame of Kemet, while Horemheb governed an empty throne.
And when his days ended, he left no son of his own blood to follow. Instead, he appointed his vizier, Paramessu, later known as Ramesses I—another man of the sword, not the temple. Thus began the line of warrior-pharaohs, whose strength was carved in stone but whose spirits were deaf to the Hymn to Hapy.
The Breaking of the Covenant
In the age before Horemheb, the harmony of Kemet rested on the sacred pact between two lineages: the priesthood of the Yoruba, who bore the spiritual essence of Ma’at, and the Great House of Kush, who held the force of humanity. Ma’at is the philosophy and moral principle of cosmic order and justice of Ifá, while Ifá is a comprehensive spiritual system centred on divination and the pursuit of individual destiny through wisdom. From the union of both the Yoruba and the Kush, flowed the rhythm of Kemet’s civilisation—a bridge between spirit and matter, between the divine and the mortal.
But Horemheb, knowing only conquest, severed this sacred bridge. He restored the temples of Amun but filled them with soldiers rather than priests. The divine order, once consulted through trance and oracle, was replaced by the edicts of men. The voice of the gods grew silent, and the Hymn to Hapy—the prayer that had united the Black Lands—ceased to echo through the sanctuaries.
No longer did Pharaoh rule as the vessel of divine will; he ruled as the sovereign of men. The law of the gods became the law of generals. And so, the covenant that had bound Kemet to the cosmos was unmade—not in war, but in forgetfulness.
When Kemet Forgot the Hymn to Hapy
From the fall of Userkare to the usurpation of Horemheb, history had completed its circle of disobedience. Both broke the sacred order. Both seized what was meant to be bestowed. And though the temples stood, the gods had departed.
Kemet without Ma’at was not Kemet—it was merely a kingdom of stone without spirit. The throne of Pharaoh became a chair of men, not a bridge to the divine. And when the Hymn to Hapy—the ancient song that once unified the Nile’s people with the cosmos—fell silent, the river no longer carried the memory of the gods.
Thus ended the true Kemet—the Kemet of Ma’at, the Kemet of priestly wisdom and cosmic balance. What followed were kingdoms of might, of empire and conquest, but not of spirit. The crown endured, but the light within it dimmed.
And I, Aye, from beyond the veil of the cosmos, remember.
For nothing is learned—everything is remembered.
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