The Unfinished Obelisk at Aswan dwarfs archaeologist Mark Lehner.
The Unfinished Obelisk
by Peter Tyson
March 16, 1999
No rock speaks such volumes as the Unfinished Obelisk. Commanding the presence of a
lost city from its rocky bed in an ancient quarry high above Aswan,
it speaks of the hubris of the pharaohs and the grueling labor of their minions,
of the triumphs of quarrying and its unimaginable failures. Had it ever made it
out of its stone cradle and assumed its position before Karnak (or wherever its
creator planned to place it), it would have been the greatest obelisk ever raised,
a monument worthy perhaps of "Wonder of the Ancient World" status. As it is, the
Unfinished Obelisk is the obelisk raisers' most grievous tragedy, a lasting
reminder of the limits of human engineering.
If it had been extracted and erected as originally conceived, the Unfinished
Obelisk would have stood 137 feet tall and weighed 1,168 tons, dwarfing all others.
(The largest survivor, the Lateran obelisk in Rome, rises 105 feet and weighs 455
tons.) However, months or perhaps years into its removal, fissures began to appear
in the granite. With each crack, its designers scaled back the size of the obelisk,
but each time the quarrymen came upon a new one. When they uncovered a profound
fissure near the obelisk's center, the project was abandoned.
"[T]he Aswan Obelisk," wrote the English archaeologist Reginald Engelbach, "enables
the visitor to look with different eyes on the finished monuments, and to
realize ... the heartbreaking failures which must sometimes have driven the old
engineers to the verge of despair before a perfect monument could be presented
by the king to his god."
Crouching in the trench made by ancient quarrymen, Denys Stock, an expert on ancient Egyptian tools, demonstrates how the
quarrymen might have wielded a dolerite pounder to carve out the obelisk.
Every great monument has its great chronicler, and the Unfinished Obelisk has
Engelbach. Chief Inspector of Egypt's Antiquities Department in the early part
of this century, he fell under the obelisk's spell as completely as Carter did
with King Tut's tomb. In 1922, the year he had it cleared of the rubble that
covered all but 20 yards of its upper shaft, Engelbach published a slim but
seminal volume, "The Aswan Obelisk, With Some Remarks on the Ancient Engineering,"
and a year later, a more popular version. It is to Engelbach that we owe much of
our understanding of this extraordinary artifact.
Its history is obscure. As Engelbach notes, since it was a failure, it was in no
one's interest to lay claim to the obelisk, and we have no idea who commissioned it.
As I stood beside its enormous bulk yesterday—each side at the base is almost
14 feet high—I kept whispering to myself, "The audacity ... The audacity ...." You
just can't believe that anyone would try to carve, much less move, much less erect such
a hillside of rock. Until, perhaps, you recall the achievements of pharaohs like
Hatshepsut and Tuthmosis III, who together were responsible for 10 of the 17 obelisks
erected at Karnak and who scholars believe are the most likely candidates.
(Personally, I'd bet on the granddaddy of all monument-builders, Ramses the Great.)
As I stepped through the deep, rock-hewn trenches that define the obelisk, my shoulders
brushing the rock on either side, my mind was not on the pharaohs, however, but on their
quarrymen. For months and months, in that cramped space under the unrelenting sun, and
all for naught, they had bashed out those scalloped trenches with cantaloupe-sized
pounders of dolerite. Engelbach estimated that at any one time 130 men each worked
a pair of scallops, in a space about four feet square.
Each worker is thought to have worked a pair of scallops, pounding away the
granite inch by brutal inch.
At Hamada Rashwan's quarry, I got a
nasty taste of their job—minus the cramped space and the pressure to succeed. Cupping
a greenish-black dolerite ball in my hands, I brought it down with a crack onto a block
of granite. Over and over, I bounced it on the same spot, till I thought I'd scrape the
skin off my palms. After ten minutes, my wrists hurt from trying to guide the 12-pound
rock in at an angle—the better to break the granite—and stabs of pain began shooting
up my arms. Mark Lehner recalled that after
once pounding for several hours, he could barely type on a computer. ("All I wanted to do
was smash the keys," he said.) I did it for only 20 minutes, and all I had to show for
it was a baby's palmful of granite dust. And the granite's surface looked no
different than when I'd started.
Imagine, then, doing this for hours and hours, day in and day out, for months on end—for your life. (Your life must have been brutally short.) Though evidence for slavery in
this context is inconclusive, the labor was certainly compulsory. (As Lehner put it:
"They didn't have Locke or Hobbes, no concept of individuality or freedom, no unions.
It's hard to think it was fun.") If there was a silver lining to the abandonment of the
Unfinished Obelisk, I thought, it was that the workers were spared having to pound it
out underneath, which must have been the most back-breaking work of all. But then again,
perhaps they felt cheated after all that effort.
As we left the quarry in the late afternoon yesterday, the low-angled sun burning
the cliffs amber, the phrase "galling beyond words" kept floating around in my head.
It comes from a line of Engelbach's: "It must have been galling beyond words to the
Egyptians to abandon it after all the time and trouble they had expended, but today
we are grateful for their failure, as it teaches us more about their methods than
any other monument in Egypt."
Stonemasons proudly pose with their near-finished, 25-plus ton
Update on obelisk raising: The obelisk should be ready by Wednesday noon, and the
ramp on which it will rest until we try to pull it upright is nearly complete as well.
Our team of engineers has been working overtime strategizing about issues of safety and
technique during the obelisk rotation next week, in part based on our challenge in pulling
the 25-ton block. They've changed one aspect, adding a counterweight to the butt-end of
the obelisk so as to reduce the amount of pulling required. Our timber framers, Rick and Wyle
Brown, meanwhile, will begin framing the outrigger on the shaft's lower end. Finally,
specially designed barge has arrived in Aswan, ready for testing with a two-ton obelisk
on Friday. (For specifics on how all these parts fit together, see Second Chance.)