edgeofn1ght · 3 years ago
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Let Him Not Hate Me
Post-‘Deception’ arc gen obikin • 4.8k words • Read on ao3 instead
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On the evening of his full return to the Temple, Obi-Wan deposited his belongings in his apartment, and changed quickly, eager to get out of the garb of a bounty hunter and back into the familiar, comfy robes of a Jedi. He looked around and sighed, grateful to be home. Nearly everything was just as he had left it, right down to the tea cup and kettle next to the cooker where they always were, ready to be used—just as if he had never ‘died.’
Both he and the Council had planned on his return, after all.
There was, however, one exception: his bed wasn’t made quite the same way he knew he had left it, and his top blanket was missing. There was only one person it could have been...
Anakin.
He was also the one person Obi-Wan had been looking for since his return, but he was nowhere to be found, and their bond was shut tight. Which wasn’t at all promising. He desperately wanted to see him, hear him, speak to him...touch him. He could only assume he did not want the same, otherwise he would have found him immediately. But Anakin had been quite incensed the last time they spoke.
In a last ditch attempt at locating the man, he visited the refectory during dinner, scanning the room carefully from the periphery, trying to avoid curious eyes. There, he had finally seen him from a distance—he seemed to be in some deep conversation with his own padawan. Sensing his presence, Anakin turned and they locked eyes briefly, but he barely acknowledged him and continued his conversation with Ahsoka, eventually turning his back towards Obi-Wan. That was clear enough.
So Obi-Wan had gone to the transformation chamber alone to get back his old face—or, as close to it as he could get—then made his way back to his apartment and waited, hoping that Anakin would stop by. He never did.
Then the next morning, he had gotten word the knight had left early for a mission in the Outer Rim. And had done so without saying goodbye.
It had been twenty eight days since Obi-Wan had returned to the Temple. Twenty seven since he had last seen Anakin.
#
After the transformation, Obi-Wan avoided his own reflection for nearly a day. After staring at Rako Hardeen for so long, he didn’t want to look in the mirror and still see him. But he was just as wary of the ‘new old’ face he'd find staring back at him. It had been years and years since he had been completely clean-shaven or had short hair—he really didn't know if he could handle looking like a padawan once more. He knew, logically, he wouldn't look the same, but in his less self-assured moments, he still felt the same—even going so far as to wish he still could ask for some of his old master’s guidance, as harebrained as it could be sometimes.
He recoiled slightly when he finally saw his face—gone, thankfully, were the harsh red facial tattoos and the too-angular jawline, but his completely bald head and beardless face remained. Mace was right, he had been rather ugly. He chuckled to himself as he stroked his jaw and chin, missing the sensation of his beard against his own fingertips, then tilted his head back and forth, up and down, taking it all in. This was actually worse than being a padawan.
It would all grow back—of course it would—but he'd need some patience until then.
He found himself suddenly wondering what Anakin would think. Would he like it at all? Or would it remind him of when they first met—of all they went through on Naboo and after…? Or instead, would it be a constant reminder of the Hardeen mission and what had transpired between them?
Not that it mattered much when he had no idea when he'd see him again. Perhaps all his hair would be grown out by then.
Then there was the matter of if Anakin would even want to talk to him. And if he didn’t want to even talk to him, then he’d certainly not want a gentle touch, a kiss, or anything more than that.
Obi-Wan rubbed his hand back and forth across his bald dome and frowned. He leaned in closer and narrowed his eyes, taking in the lines around his eyes and his mouth. How long had they been there? Were they always so prominent? Like the moles and scars on his face that were also more visible without any hair to detract from their presence.
He never thought of himself as particularly vain (he’d call it more fastidious), but as he stared at his reflection, he found himself briefly unhappy. He could probably stand never having a beard again, but he needed hair—Mace could pull it off, he could not.
He backed away from the mirror, straightening his tabards and suddenly realized it wasn't his lack of hair that made him unhappy—it was just hair, you’re being ridiculous. No, it was Anakin and the way he had snubbed and completely avoided him, then left.
But time and the war went on.
He had his own missions, tasks, and meetings, and his hair grew until his head was covered in a short, soft fuzz, the sandy-blond color that he was told glinted red in the sunlight. It was a bit shorter now than when he had met Anakin, and his beard a scratchy stubble.
He stroked his chin as he made his tea one afternoon, wistfully thinking about how Anakin would probably complain about kissing him now, about how rough and scratchy his face would be. He found himself wishing to even have a chance to hear him refuse.
He eventually managed to talk to him twice in the near-month he had been away, but it was very brief and clinical, necessary conversations about the mission and the war. There was no time for any kind of explanation, and there certainly were no kind or soft words—even as friends. Their conversations were stiff but thankfully civil.
Obi-Wan found himself aching with the void.
#
On the twenty-ninth rotation since he had bade Hardeen farewell, he finally felt a tug on their bond. So light and quick it was, he almost missed it. He looked up from his datapad and out the window to the bustling Coruscant skies. Before he could stop himself, he hesitantly sent back a wave of comfort, I am here. Wherever Anakin was, Obi-Wan would always be there, always ready to meet or talk. He wasn't sure if Anakin would outright reject it, but he had to try.
He jumped up from his couch when he finally felt the younger man’s presence close by, and turned just in time to see the door slide open. Anakin stood in the doorway fully dressed in his usual dark Jedi robes, his long dark cloak wrapped around him. His hair was a bit longer and slightly wilder than it had been the last time Obi-Wan had seen him, no doubt he was due for a trim. The most concerning were the darker circles under his eyes, and Obi-Wan wondered if he had slept at all since he had been gone. But none of these things were as out of the ordinary as the facial hair he was sporting.
Obi-Wan had seen him attempt to grow a beard a few times, but Anakin had always given up fairly quickly and shaved, complaining that it itched too much as it grew. The stubble he wore now made him look older than his 22 years, and it added a certain rakish charm. In that moment, it amused Obi-Wan to think that perhaps he would be confused for the padawan out of the pair of them.
"Obi-Wan," Anakin breathed out, not moving from his spot in the doorway. Just saying his name felt like an impossible thing.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan replied softly, unsure of what else to say.
They kept their eyes locked on each other as he took a single step in, finally clearing the door so it would shut. As he stood there, he clasped his hands in front of his stomach, and Obi-Wan knew he was fiddling with his fingers under the voluminous sleeves.
"You're home." Home. That's what Anakin had always felt like to him, and the Temple had felt emptier lately without him there. But did he feel the same way? Or had their relationship been irreparably harmed?
"Yes," came the curt reply. Anakin's eyes shifted around the room, as if taking it in for the first time despite it being something of a second home to him for well over a decade. He shifted from foot to foot.
"I'm glad," Obi-Wan smiled tenderly but remained in place. He was afraid of moving and spooking the younger man.
Without any sort of acknowledgement, Anakin slipped off his cloak and hung it up on the hooks by the door. Right next to Obi-Wan’s. Right next to the cloak Anakin had given him one Life Day—a fine cloak woven from the best material Tatooine could provide. He shouldn't really have a favorite possession, but it was his favorite cloak.
"How long are you--"
"I don't know, " Anakin said, brusquely, cutting off Obi-Wan’s innocent question.
We need to talk, he wanted to say. I missed you, I love you, he wanted to say more than anything. Instead: "You have a beard."
"You don't."
Obi-Wan huffed, rubbing at the short stubble one again. "Well it isn't for lack of trying, I assure you."
"I thought you were dead." Anakin said, going straight for the bantha in the room as he took several more steps in. Obi-Wan remained firmly in place. Then more softly, barely above a whisper, "I buried you, Obi-Wan."
"Anakin…" He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He grabbed the hem of his tunic between thumb and forefinger, then curled his socked toes into the rug as an anchor. He exhaled. Anakin didn't give him a chance to finish it.
He swayed backwards, barely holding ground, as his former padawan launched himself bodily at him, circling his arms around his shoulders and burying his face in his neck—even though he was several inches taller. Obi-Wan held his arms up, hesitant to even touch until he heard the sob, then he wrapped them around Anakin's back, pulling him into a warm embrace. This was home.
He reached up and stroked Anakin's wild curls with one hand and breathed out, "I've missed you." He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the side of Anakin's head, inhaling his scent. He must have come straight off the cruiser without taking time to clean up—he smelled like dirt, sweat, and stale recycled air, but underneath, unmistakably his Anakin.
He ran his hand soothingly up and down Anakin's back as he cried. He wasn't noisy, but Obi-Wan felt every shake and dramatic intake of breath.
When the crying subsided a bit, Obi-Wan pulled away, and Anakin kept his head bowed as he wiped at his eyes and nose. As he bent his head to look at him, he put a finger under his chin to tilt it up. "Why don't you go get cleaned up and I'll make us some tea?" Anakin nodded slowly, still not lifting his eyes to look at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan reached up and cupped his jaw and rubbed his thumb across his bearded cheek—it was a strange sensation on his Anakin. He smiled to himself when he noticed it was patchy in places. Anakin finally looked up at him, red-rimmed blue eyes made glassy and bright with tears.
"I'm not sure about the beard," he said with a grin hoping it would bring Anakin a little smile, too. But he just stared at him, eyes roaming across his face then to his hair. Obi-Wan could feel the scrutiny and braced himself for the comments.
Anakin wordlessly reached up and gently ran his hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. His eyes fluttered shut. Anakin ran his hand back and forth a few times, enjoying the feeling of the soft, short spikes under his palm, then finally dropped his hand, unconcerned about the beard. "I'm not sure about the hair."
Obi-Wan opened his eyes. "Well, I assure you, I'm working on that, too." That finally earned him a slight smile from his dear friend, even though they were still tiptoeing around each other and the issue at large.
Anakin sniffled once more then walked over to the couch and sat to pull off his boots. He let them fall where they may then stood again and made his way to Obi-Wan’s fresher, discarding items of clothing as he went. Obi-Wan sighed as he bent to pick up the boots and moved them underneath his cloak. He didn’t know where they would go from here, but this was a start.
#
Anakin had left the door to the fresher open which usually would have been an invitation, but Obi-Wan saw it now, at the very least, as Anakin not completely shutting him out. For that he was grateful. Forgoing the tea for the moment, he pulled off his own boots, and laid down on his bed, listening to the gentle noises of the shower.
While Anakin was gone, Obi-Wan had had ample time to think and meditate on what he wanted to say, but now that he was back, he was finding it difficult to know where to start.
At first, he found himself frustrated that Anakin just took off before they had a chance to talk. And hurt. Especially that he took off without a simple goodbye. Anything could have happened to either of them. But he didn’t want to begin with an accusation.
He couldn't promise not to take any more clandestine missions, and he wouldn’t apologize for taking this one—his duty had demanded it and they had saved the Chancellor. He knew Anakin would have done the same, especially as the Chancellor was his friend, even if he couldn’t admit it. But he was sorry that he had to fake his death to do it.
He and Ahsoka had had a good, long talk about it, and in the end he had felt closer to her than ever. Even though she was Anakin's padawan, he always felt so keenly that he, too, was personally responsible for her and cared for her as such. He had been proud of her accomplishments and achievements as she grew right before their eyes.
He had also taken time with Commander Cody, who understood better than anyone what Obi-Wan had to do for the mission. Obi-Wan had been sorry to learn that Cody and the 212th had been sent off on another mission before Obi-Wan’s ‘funeral,’ but Cody had never truly believed it anyway, and thus went about his own duties, positive that he'd see his friend and general again. That had made Obi-Wan feel somewhat better.
Obi-Wan was drawn from his reverie when Anakin coughed lightly from where he stood leaning in the doorway to the fresher. He was clad in black sleep pants and nothing else, arms crossed across his muscular chest. His hair looked darker than usual as it hung limp and damp around his face. Obi-Wan glanced at him from where he lay relaxing, one arm tucked behind his head. He could have waited in the living room, but he had preferred to stay close by. Still, the distance between them felt chasmic.
"Feeling better?"
Anakin hesitated then shrugged one shoulder, “A bit.” Then he rubbed at his jaw. "I think I want to shave though."
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, surprised he hadn't just done it while he was showering. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Well if you'd still like some tea, I can go--"
"I want you to shave me." Obi-Wan didn't know why the request startled him, but it did. He looked up and considered the younger man, who just stood there and stared at him.
"Oh?" Was the only reply he could manage.
Anakin turned slightly to head back in the fresher then beckoned Obi-Wan over with a tilt of his head. "C'mon, old man, make yourself useful." Obi-Wan smiled at the endearment and made his way towards Anakin.
#
Obi-Wan was alive. He was here and real and whole. For a little over a month, he had dreamt of Obi-Wan being killed in a myriad of ways with Anakin always left holding him in his arms, feeling his life and light leaving him. Even in his dreams, their bond severing was a painful thing. So he had kept it shut tight in order to not feel a thing—good or bad.
He hadn’t felt his master’s warmth since he had ‘died,’ and he missed it. It was more accurate to say he felt bereft. He hadn’t realized how much he had relied on it being a part of him until he no longer had it.
He had not handled Obi-Wan’s death well, not at all, but how could he? Nor had he handled it well when he found out Obi-Wan was alive. Or when he had explained the mission.
Then he saw him in the refectory at dinner and knew immediately he still needed time. Seeing that bastard’s face in Obi-Wan’s clothes was too much to handle, so he ran away to the Outer Rim. He knew it was Obi-Wan then, but he wondered if that face would forever haunt his dreams.
He had spent time talking to Captain Rex and his own padawan while he was away, but he was still far from forgiveness. He tried to meditate, but he had never been very good at that in general. He was always better at it when Obi-Wan was within reach anyway, when Obi-Wan could envelop him in his own warm Force signature. He struggled to control his emotions and feelings no matter what he did, and found his thoughts always returning to his old master even though he wanted to forget and move on.
In his worst moments, he vacillated between never wanting to see him again and never wanting to let him out of his sight.
And now, with Obi-Wan sitting right in front of him, he wanted to gather him into his arms. But he couldn’t imagine touching him again. He wanted to kiss him until he had covered every inch of skin and his own lips were chapped red. He wanted to yell at him until he could no longer use his voice. He wanted to sit down on his couch with him and suffer politely through a holodrama and a cup of tea. He wanted to spar and fight, get Obi-Wan on his knees, begging for his mercy—and his forgiveness.
He didn't know what to do or say. He felt frozen with indecision.
So instead, he merely stood between Obi-Wan’s spread legs as he sat on the counter of his fresher, slowly applying a worked lather to his jaw with his calloused fingertips. Anakin fought to keep his eyes open under Obi-Wan’s touch. He had missed it, dreamt about it, craved it; he had been a man wandering the desert for the last month, and Obi-Wan was his oasis.
His arms hung uselessly at his sides, unsure what to do with them. Normally his hands would have been all over Obi-Wan, touching him anywhere he would allow, but now he was uncertain. He carefully watched the older man's face as he tilted Anakin’s chin to the right, then slowly dragged the razor across his jaw, scraping away the layer of shaving cream there.
Obi-Wan was concentrating so hard on not cutting Anakin that he felt he had more of an opportunity to stare openly at his master's beloved—even now he was still his most beloved—face. Even as different as it was.
He was just grateful it was his face.
He looked so unlike the fastidious Jedi Master, Councilor and High General he'd become in the last couple of years. It was throwing Anakin off that he actually looked so much like the padawan Anakin had met aboard the Nabooian cruiser as they hurriedly lifted off Tatooine 13 years ago. The same soft blue eyes, the same length hair, the same dimpled cheeks and chin no longer hidden behind a beard, the same mole on his forehead, except… Now his eyes were lined, the corners crinkling when he smiled; his temples—though the hair was still shorn so short—were noticeably grey. There were also some new dark circles under his eyes, and when he pressed his lips thin in concentration, there were lines at the downturned corners of his mouth.
When had his master gotten old?
Perhaps that wasn't fair—he was only 37, nearly 38, but the war was aging him. These sorts of missions were aging him. The war was aging all of them. None of it was fair.
Whereas he could barely look at him before, he now found himself unable to look away from his still mostly beard-less face. He was so very handsome, he always had been, but his beard did hide his lovely visage. Obi-Wan was deep in concentration trying not to cut him, but he very selfishly wanted those blue eyes on him.
Anakin lifted his hands and set them gently on the tops of Obi-Wan’s thighs and squeezed lightly, waiting for the reaction. Obi-Wan startled and nicked the cheek he was shaving which caused Anakin to hiss.
"Anakin!" Obi-Wan put the razor down quickly and grabbed the towel next to his leg. Anakin didn't remove either hand, despite his bleeding cheek. He liked too much the feel of muscle flexing under his hands as Obi-Wan shifted around. Obi-Wan curled his left hand around Anakin's neck then pressed the towel to his cheek with his right. "I'm so sorry, my dear. You startled me."
"S’ok," Anakin replied, careful not to move his mouth much because of the shaving cream. He was not the least bit concerned about a tiny nick when they all came home with new scars after every battle.
But Obi-Wan’s eyes were finally on him just like he wanted. Anakin held his gaze for what felt like an eternity until Obi-Wan looked away again to check the cut.
Anakin slowly slid his hands up Obi-Wan’s thighs until they came to rest on his hips. He stroked his sides with his thumbs, realizing how much he actually missed his touch. Look at me, he sent across their bond. Obi-Wan's eyes locked with his again, and if he hadn't been paying attention, he would have missed the way Obi-Wan tensed.
Not too long ago, he was sure this was lost to him forever. He'd never see, touch, or kiss his face again. Never hold him. Never hear his own name on those lips, whether it followed a scold or a whispered 'I love you.' And now here he was, sitting in front of him, as real as anything else—solid under his fingertips—but he was afraid he was a mirage or a ghost.
Obi-Wan finally removed the towel and looked down to rinse the razor in the sink. He hesitated briefly before bringing the razor back to his face and continuing. He continued to take in Obi-Wan’s face as he concentrated—every line, freckle, thread of grey in his barely-there beard and hair. When Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, Anakin wanted to press kisses to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
"I take it there's something on my face?" Obi-Wan broke the silence as he rinsed the razor once more. He looked back at Anakin and huffed a laugh at his half-shaved face. He slowly and carefully dragged the razor around Anakin's mouth, down his upper lip then his chin. With the shaving cream finally cleared from around his mouth, Anakin felt it was safe to talk.
"No, nothing so awful as that." He reached up and gently stroked the corner of Obi-Wan’s left eye with feather-light fingertips. "Just wondering when you got these."
Obi-Wan hummed, his smile fading. "I surely couldn't tell you, it feels like one day I just woke up and they were there."
When Obi-Wan moved to rinse again, Anakin leaned forward quickly and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s cheek right below his eye. Obi-Wan watched him while he used his thumb to wipe off the shaving cream he left behind.
"Sorry, I-- I just wanted to do that." He looked down, sheepish, feeling ridiculous. Obi-Wan felt like a stranger. And he hated it.
"There's no need to apologize," Obi-Wan said as he lifted his chin and finished shaving the last few patches. He cleared his throat, "Actually… I assumed you wouldn't want to anymore." He finally took the towel and wiped down Anakin's face to clean off the last bit of shaving cream. "There."
Anakin frowned as their eyes met once again. Obi-Wan's were warm but sad, and Anakin didn't know what to say. They both needed to say things, but not even the famed ‘Negotiator’ had the right words to say.
Anakin leaned to the side to look in the small mirror, his hands moving to wrap around the tops of Obi-Wan’s thighs once more, not ready to let go. He tilted his face side to side to check Obi-Wan’s handiwork. "Not bad." Obi-Wan huffed and Anakin fixed a warm gaze on him again. He moved around Obi-Wan and turned on the water to clean his face. Obi-Wan stayed in place until he reached out and tucked some wayward curls behind his ear, gently pinching his earlobe before removing his hand completely.
"Your hair is getting quite long, too—do you want me to trim it?"
Anakin finished rinsing his face and stood, grabbing the hand towel to dry it. He pulled it down his face roughly, then looked down at Obi-Wan who was staring up at him, a tender but inscrutable expression on his face. "No, I don't want you to trim it, you don’t like it?”
"No, no, I like it," Obi-Wan shifted as if he was about to get down but Anakin placed a hand on his shoulder—he wasn't through with him yet.
He pushed Obi-Wan’s knees apart and repositioned himself between them. He cupped his jaw with one flesh hand, one metal hand, gold-tipped fingers lightly grazing his ginger beard. They watched each other for what felt like an eternity, then he leaned forward and pressed his newly-shaved cheek against his master’s. Obi-Wan remained still—Anakin's cool skin was like a balm against his own warm skin. He rubbed his face gently against Obi-Wan’s then switched sides to do the other cheek. He finally felt the muscles in Obi-Wan's face pull into a smile.
"And what are you doing, my dear?" He asked, fondness creeping into his voice. He always loved playful Anakin—whenever he got a chance to be that way.
"I'm letting you feel your handiwork. Don't you think it's nice?"
Obi-Wan hummed again, "I suppose it's alright." Anakin pulled away quickly in mock offense. Obi-wan chuckled as he reached out and toyed with the drawstring on Anakin's sleep pants, his smile fading once more. Anakin's fingers twitched against Obi-Wan’s cheek. "Anakin, we have to…" Obi-Wan started but was cut off by the press of cool lips against his own. No fire or want, just soft but hesitant tenderness.
Despite the hesitancy, the familiarity and nearness of Anakin was what he had missed the most. Anakin pressed gentle kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his greying temples… But Obi-Wan wanted him still closer, needed him even closer. He placed his hands on the warm skin of his hips and pulled, which encouraged Anakin to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan’s back. They pulled at each other until their chests were pressed together. Obi-Wan sighed at the feel of that enveloping, solid warmth.
Anakin finally pulled away and straightened to his full height which allowed Obi-Wan to lean forward and tuck his head under his chin. It felt so nice to hold and be held once again.
“I missed you, I missed this,” Anakin said quietly. More than you can ever know, went unsaid.
“As did I,” Obi-Wan mumbled into his chest. “Please don’t leave again without saying goodbye.” He felt Anakin nod rather than say anything.
Anakin wanted to say the same, but the words were stuck in his throat. Their conversation could wait a little while longer. The tea could also wait. Right now, Obi-Wan was alive and in his arms, and he would never let him go again.
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witchbitchheadedtoaditch · 4 years ago
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The Basics of Kemetic Philosophy (without the appropriated shit from Judaism): Where the Fuck Do We Begin?
We should look to begin with what is, in my opinion, at the very heart of Kemeticism as a whole: Maat. Maat has a variety of different definitions, but it is most widely accepted as a "fundamental, pervasive and enduring element in ancient Egyptian civilization and an inclusive and defining cultural category." Maulana Karenga (author of Maat, the Moral Ideal in Ancient Egypt: A Study in Classical African Ethics) defines Maat as the "understanding of ancient Egypt's highest moral standards, its delineation of right and wrong, its definitive concepts of relational obligations and rules of conduct and other data which composed and informed the ancient Egyptian moral universe."
But what exactly does that mean?
That's a good question, and it's the question that a lot of Kemetic practitioners ask themselves every day (myself included). While we don't have a definitive definition necessarily, we do have the differing definitions of a variety of scholars, both philosophical and archaeological. Mubabinge Bilolo suggests that Maat is "a place of articulation of three ideals," and that these ideals are:
The ideal of knowledge; the love of science; the aspiration for knowledge; the aspiration for the knowledge of true being or of that which is true or sure.
The moral ideal of truth, justice, and rectitude.
The metaphysical ideal of love and the knowledge of being: the beginning of all being.
That is to say, Maat is more than just a moral ideal, it's also an epistemological ideal. Karenga calls Maat "polysemic," that is to say, it hold several different meanings, and they're all correct. Maat is not specifically an ideological ideal, it's the foundations on which the universe rests. It is the foundation and order of the world along with the foundation of morality and idealism. It is an "interrelated order of rightness" that we should all strive to both embody and perpetuate. Maat is the core of Kemeticism and the core of who we are as Kemetic practitioners. Henri Frankfort states that "a [person's] success in life appears as proof of his frictionless integration in (this divine) order."
While Maat is similar to a myriad of different ideological principles in different cultures throughout the world--cieng in the Dinka tradition, rta in Hinduism, etc.--Maat is uniquely situated as more than just an ideological principle for morality or for righteousness in a culture--it is "conceived and carried out within the worldview which links the Divine, the natural and the social. These three domains are interrelated, interactive, and mutually affective." (Karenga, p.10)
Maat, unlike many other moral principles, is not a fixed ideology or a fixed set of concepts. It's an ongoing project that we all work to create and make better throughout our practices. It is something that we have to actively work on in order to bring to fruition and continue to uphold.
So what all does Maat entail?
Maat, like I've stated, is a polysemic concept that envelops three distinct areas of life: the Divine, the natural, and the social. In order to best understand Maat so that we may best practice it, it is best to split it up into these three sections: Maat as it relates to relationships with the Divine, Maat in the natural world, and Maat in the social world. In order to understand Maat as it relates to relationships with the Divine (or even the goddess Maat herself), we must first understand Maat in the natural and social worlds.
Maat in the natural world
Maat as it relates to the natural world is, in my opinion, the most basic understanding of Maat. In ethical texts, it is described as "life-giving" and "life-affirming," which is to say that it is natural way of life. Ptahhotep describes Maat as "a way even before the unlearned," suggesting that it is innate within us and when we learn things that go against our instincts we are effectively going against Maat. It is considered a way of life that we are so innately connected to we do not even have to learn it. Of course, we will always have to work to practice it--isfet is always nearby--but we do not have to work to learn it. It is the understanding that we are to be mutually beneficial with nature. We cannot take whatever we please from nature without giving back to nature in some way, just as nature cannot take whatever it pleases from us without giving back in some way. There is a reciprocity in Maat as a natural principle.
Maat in the social world
Maat as it relates to the social world is probably the most common definition of Maat--at least in my research--and it centers around social ethics and civil service. To be more precise, it centers around several key teachings made by different pharaohs during different Kingdoms. The most common teachings cited as the foundations of Maat stem from the Old and Middle Kingdoms, with a heavy focus on the teachings of Ptahhotep and his court and the writings of multiple tombs which include things like the Declaration of Virtues, the Declaration of Innocence, and the Book of Coming Forth By Day (Also known as the Egyptian Book of Life/The Egyptian Book of the Dead).
The oldest instructions come from The Instruction of Hordedef, during the third Old Kingdom. They say:
"Cleanse yourself before your own eyes, lest another cleanse you. When you prosper, found your household, take a mistress of heart, a son will be born to You. It is for the son that you build a house when you make a place for yourself. Make good dwelling in the graveyard, make worthy your station in the West. Accept that death humbles us, accept that life exalts us, the house of death is for life. Seek for yourself well-watered fields. Choose for him a plot among your fields, well-watered every year. He profits you more than your own son, prefer him even to your [son]."
While there are a multitude of versions of the Egyptian Book of the Dead that we can look towards for information regarding Maat in a variety of contexts, I have found the Papyrus of Nu to be one of the most helpful in interpreting the social constructs of Maat.
From the Papyrus of Nu, we get the following:
"In truth I have come to thee (Maati), and I have brought Maat to thee, and I have destroyed wickedness for thee. I have not done evil to mankind. I have not oppressed the members of my family, I have not wrought evil in the place of right and truth. I have had no knowledge of worthless men. I have not wrought evil. I have not made to be the first consideration of each day that excessive labor should be performed for me. I have not brought forward my name for exaltation to honors. I have not ill-treated servants. I have not thought scorn of the Gods. I have not defrauded the oppressed one of his property. I have not done that which is an abomination unto the gods. I have not caused harm to be done to the servant by his chief. I have not caused pain. I have made no man suffer hunger. I have made no one to weep. I have done no murder. I have not given the order for murder to be done for me. I have not inflicted pain upon mankind. I have not defrauded the temples of their oblations. I have not purloined the cakes of the gods. I have not carried off the cakes offered to the khus. I have not committed fornication. I have not polluted myself in the holy places of the god of my city, nor diminished from the bushel. I have neither added to nor filched away land. I have not encroached upon the fields of others. I have not added to the weights of scales. I have not misread the pointer of the scales. I have not carried away the milk from the mouths of children. I have not driven away the cattle which were upon their pastures. I have not snared the feathered fowl of the preserves of the gods. I have not caught fish with bait made of fish of their kind. I have not turned back the water at the time when it should flow. I have not cut a cutting in a canal of running water. I have not extinguished a fire or light when it should burn. I have not violated the ties of offering to chosen meat-offerings. I have not driven off the cattle from the property of the gods. I have not repulsed the gods in their manifestations. I am pure. I am pure. I am pure. I am pure."
We also have the Negative Confession from the Papyrus of Nebseni, which is a numbered list of 42 statements that define what Maat is not. These are somewhat edited from the most commonly found translations because the translations speak only of God, and we know that Kemeticism is not a monotheistic religion and it irks me lol.
Hail, thou whose strides are long, who comest forth from Annu, I have not done iniquity.
Hail, thou who art embraced by flame, who comest forth from Kher-aba, I have not robbed with violence.
Hail, thou divine Nose, who comest forth from Khemennu, I have not done violence to any man.
Hail, thou who eatest shades, who comest forth from the place where the Nile riseth, I have not committed theft.
Hail, Neha-hau, who comest forth from Re-stau, I have not slain man or woman.
Hail, thou double Lion-god, who comest forth from heaven, I have not made light the bushel.
Hail, thou whose two eyes are like flint, who comest forth from Sekhem, I have not acted deceitfully.
Hail, thou Flame, who comest forth as thou goest back, I have not purloined the things which belong unto the gods.
Hail, thou Crusher of bones, who comest forth from Suten-henen, I have not uttered falsehood.
Hail, thou who makest the flame to wax strong, who comest forth from Het-ka-Ptah, I have not carried away food.
Hail, Qerti, who come forth from Amentet, I have not uttered evil words.
Hail, thou whose teeth shine, who comest forth from Ta-she, I have attacked no man.
Hail, thou who dost consume blood, who comest forth from the house of slaughter, I have not killed the beasts which are the property of the gods.
Hail, thou who dost consume the entrails, who comest forth from the mabet chamber, I have not acted deceitfully.
Hail, thou god of Right and Truth, who comest forth from the city of double Maati, I have not laid waste to the lands which have been plowed.
Hail, thou who goest backward, who comest forth from the city of Bast, I have never pried into matters to make mischief.
Hail, Aati, who comest forth from Annu, I have not set my mouth in motion against any man.
Hail, thou who art doubly evil, who comest forth from the nome of Ati, I have not given way to wrath concerning myself without a cause.
Hail, thou serpent Uamemti, who comest forth from the house of slaughter, I have not defiled the wife of a man.
Hail, thou who lookest upon what is brought to him, who comest forth from the Temple of Amsu, I have not committed any sin against purity.
Hail, Chief of the divine Princes, who comest forth from the city of Nehatu, I have not struck fear into any man.
Hail, Khemiu, who comest forth from the Lake of Kaui, I have not encroached upon sacred times and seasons.
Hail, thou who orderest speech, who comest forth from Urit, I have not been a man of anger.
Hail, thou Child, who comest forth from the Lake of Heq-at, I have not made myself deaf to the words of right and truth.
Hail, thou disposer of speech, who comest forth from the city of Unes, I have not stirred up strife.
Hail, Basti, who comest forth from the Secret City, I have made no man to weep.
Hail, thou whose face is turned backward, who comest forth from the Dwelling, I have not committed acts of impurity, neither have I lain with men.**
Hail, Leg of fire, who comest forth from Akhekhu, I have not eaten my heart.
Hail, Kenemti, who comest forth from the city of Kenemet, I have abused no man.
Hail, thou who bringest thine suffering, who comest forth from the city of Sau, I have not acted with violence.
Hail, thou god of faces, who comest forth from the city of Tchefet, I have not judged hastily.
Hail, thou who givest knowledge, who comest forth from Unth, I have not... and I have not taken vengeance upon the god.
Hail, thou lord of two horns, who comest forth from Satiu, I have not multiplied my speech overmuch.
Hail, Nefer-Tem, who comest forth from Het-ka-Ptah, I have not acted with deceit, and I have not worked wickedness.
Hail, Tem-Sep, who comest forth from Tattu, I have not uttered curses on the king.
Hail, thou whose heart doth labor, who comest forth from the city of Tebti, I have not fouled water.
Hail, Ahi of the water, who comest forth from Nu, I have not made haughty my voice.
Hail, thou who givest commands to mankind, who comest forth from Sau, I have not cursed the gods.
Hail, Neheb-nefert, who comest forth from the Lake of Nefer, I have not behaved with insolence.
Hail, Neheb-kau, who comest forth from thy city, I have not sought for distinctions.
Hail, thou whose head is holy, who comest forth from thy habitations, I have not increased my wealth, except with such things as are justly mine own possessions.
Hail, thou who bringest thine own arm, who comest forth from Aukert, I have not thought scorn of the god who is in my city.
**"neither have I lain with men" can be used to excuse homophobia in Kemeticism, but I personally interpret it similar to declaration 19, in that it is specific to those already married/in relationships.
There is a large body of work surrounding Ptahhotep's Maxims as a site of Maatian ideals, but the Maxims alone are over a dozen pages long, so I will put those in a separate post!
Maat, the relationships with the Divine
Maat as it relates to relationships with the Divine is probably the least well-defined aspect of Maat. In the autobiography of Seshem-Nefer, Maat is defined as "What God loves, wills and wishes" and "the Good". In relationship to the Divine, Maat is essentially "right" worship. This leaves a lot of room for interpretation and expansion, which is ideal in a culture and religion that continues to evolve and survive the tests of time.
What the hell does all of this mean?
This all goes to say that Maat is the crux of Kemeticism, and without it we would definitely struggle to understand the gods and our world effectively and efficiently. Maat is an ever-changing ideal that centers around doing what is good and right both socially, naturally, and with regards to the Divine. There are a multitude of interpretations of this concept, and this is only one of them.
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