For decades, scholars believed that Pharaoh Hatshepsut — one of ancient Egypt’s most powerful female rulers — was the victim of damnatio memoriae, a posthumous campaign by her stepson and successor, Thutmose III, to erase her from history. But a new study published in the journal Antiquity suggests this story may be far more complex — and far less vindictive — than previously thought.
Led by Jun Yi Wong of the University of Toronto, the research draws on extensive unpublished archival materials from early 20th-century excavations at Deir el-Bahri, Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple near Luxor. The team analyzed photographs, field notes, and correspondence from 1922–1928, documenting hundreds of statue fragments unearthed at the site.
Contrary to long-standing narratives, many of the statues — including several heads and faces — remained surprisingly intact. The damage that was present followed predictable patterns at weak structural points such as the neck or knees, aligning with a known Egyptian ritual practice called “deactivation.” This religious custom aimed to symbolically neutralize a statue’s spiritual power after its function had ended — not to desecrate it out of anger or hatred.
“Much of the destruction appears to be ritualistic rather than political,” Wong explains.
While Wong acknowledges that Hatshepsut’s name was omitted from some royal records after her death — and that gender politics likely played a role in this — he argues that the destruction of her statues was not a coordinated purge driven by Thutmose III’s personal resentment. Instead, it likely reflected a mix of dynastic, religious, and practical considerations.
In Egyptian tradition, ritual statue deactivation was common — even for male rulers — as a way to end their influence in both the earthly and divine realms. Iconoclasm, in this context, did not necessarily signal condemnation. Rather, it marked the transition of power and the sacred retirement of past rule.
This reinterpretation urges scholars and the public alike to reconsider the relationship between Hatshepsut and Thutmose III. “We’ve long imposed modern assumptions about conflict, gender, and political rivalry onto ancient practices,” Wong says. “But in ancient Egypt, the ritual and the political were deeply entwined.”
By reframing the destruction of Hatshepsut’s statues not as a personal vendetta but as part of a wider cultural and ritual system, the study opens the door to a more nuanced understanding of power, memory, and representation in ancient Egypt.
