Shezmu was never a contradiction. He was a process. The same press that crushed grapes into wine could crush seeds into oil; the same force that released fragrance could release blood. Egyptians did not separate beauty from danger or pleasure from power. Transformation was sacred, whether it brought intoxication or justice. Shezmu personified that truth: what is pressed becomes something else.
This article does not treat Shezmu as a horror figure or a novelty. It follows him through texts, ritual practice, and history to ask the real question ancient Egyptians asked: what kind of power changes things so completely that even life and death pass through its hands?
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| Shezmu, with his oils, travels in Ra’s entourage through the night sky. Detail of the ceiling of the Temple of Hathor at Dendera |
The Press That Changes Everything — Why Shezmu Rules Wine and Blood
To understand Shezmu, you first have to understand pressure.
Ancient Egypt depended on it. Grapes did not become wine by waiting. Seeds did not become oil by prayer. They were crushed. And in that violent motion, something precious emerged. Flavor, scent, nourishment—value was created through force.
Shezmu was the god of that moment.
Not of the vineyard.
Not of the olive tree.
But of the press itself.
The place where something stops being what it was.
This is why his domains never felt strange to Egyptians. Oil, wine, perfume, blood—each was a result of rupture. A substance made by breaking another body open. The modern mind wants to pull pleasure and violence apart. Egyptian religion did not. It grouped them by mechanism, not by emotion.
Shezmu did not preside over killing out of cruelty. He presided over transformation through impact.
And once you understand that the rest of his character stops being frightening and starts being inevitable.
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| Two women are shown pressing the blossoms from the white water lily to extract its oil for susinum, a lily-based perfume. (Late to Ptolemaic Periods, c. 350 BC – Photo: Musée du Louvre, E 11162) |
From Feast to Tribunal — How Shezmu Moved into the Afterlife
Shezmu did not start as a judge.
He did not begin as an executioner.
He entered the underworld for the same reason he ruled the press: because transformation does not end at death.
In funerary texts, the afterlife is not a paradise. It is a process. The dead are examined, purified, altered. And in that system, someone had to do the crushing.
Just as grapes were stripped of skin to become wine, the soul had to be stripped of deception to become worthy. Shezmu’s work simply shifted location—from the workshop to the judgment hall. What he crushed in the world of the living were plants. What he crushed in the Duat were lies.
The imagery turned darker because the subject did. Life can accept pressure as craft. Death feels it as threat.
But the role did not change.
He was never there to torment for pleasure.
He was there to separate what could survive transformation from what could not.
In some texts, enemies of the gods are “pressed” into punishment. That language is not poetic exaggeration—it is theological consistency. The same force that once extracted oil now extracted truth.
Shezmu didn’t become violent.
He became honest.
Scent, Stardust, and Silence — Why Perfume Was Sacred
Perfume seems harmless.
In Egypt, it wasn’t.
Oil and fragrance were not luxuries; they were interfaces. They touched skin. They entered breath. They spoke to gods without words. When priests anointed statues or wrapped the dead in scent, they were not decorating. They were activating.
And Shezmu oversaw that activation.
Incense, unguents, sacred oils—all passed through force before they became holy. Resin burned only after breaking; oils flowed only after pressing. Scent carried the memory of impact. That is why it mattered.
To an Egyptian, smell was not cosmetic. It was cosmological. Good scent meant order. Rot meant chaos. Fragrance fought decay. It rehearsed resurrection.
And the god who ruled the press naturally ruled perfume.
Shezmu’s gentlest face was his most misunderstood. The god of blood was also the god of aroma because both were mediums of change. One altered flesh. The other altered air.
If wine opened the body, perfume opened the invisible.
Scents of Power — Why Perfume Was Sacred, Not Cosmetic
Perfume in Egypt was not about smelling pleasant.
It was about commanding space.
A scent enters before a person does. It changes air. It announces presence without sound. For Egyptians, fragrance was invisible authority—and Shezmu controlled it.
Oil and perfume were not vanity products. They were tools for ritual, healing, and sanctification. Statues were anointed so the gods could “receive” their bodies. Kings were rubbed with sacred compounds to wrap sovereignty in scent. The deceased were coated to prepare their flesh for eternity.
And every one of these actions depended on pressure again. Resin had to be torn from trees. Seeds had to be crushed. Flowers had to be broken open.
Shezmu was not the god of luxury.
He was the god of release.
Release of aroma. Release of essence. Release of what is hidden in matter.
When texts describe him working with oils and unguents, they are not softening his image. They are completing it. The same hands that extracted fragrance also judged the dead. Because power that transforms gently is still power.
Egypt trusted what broke things open.
It was the only way something new could emerge.
Shezmu at a Glance
- Essence: God of the press — where things are crushed and changed.
- Domains: Wine, oils, perfume, and punitive transformation in the afterlife.
- Key Idea: The same force that creates fragrance and wine can also enforce justice.
- Role in Life: Oversees pressing grapes, seeds, and resins into valuable substances.
- Role in Death: Processes the unworthy, separating lies from truth.
- Misreading: Later portrayed as a “blood god” or demon in modern retellings.
- Real Meaning: Sacred pressure — transformation that does not pretend to be gentle.
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A God Who Changed with Egypt — Shezmu Through the Ages
Shezmu did not stay still, because Egypt did not.
In the Old Kingdom, he appears first as a worker of substances—wine, oils, and fragrant compounds that belonged to elite life and temple ritual. His power is practical, grounded, almost industrial. He belongs to workshops, storerooms, and presses. In this early phase, he is not feared. He is useful.
By the Middle Kingdom, his identity begins to darken—not because Egypt became cruel, but because its religious thinking deepened. The afterlife grows more complex. Judgment becomes more personal. Punishment becomes symbolic rather than mere destruction. And Shezmu is recruited into that system.
In late texts, he is no longer only making oil.
He is making truth come out.
Enemies are “pressed” like grapes.
Lies are treated as impurities to be extracted.
Evil is no longer banished; it is processed away.
By the Late Period, Shezmu stands fully formed as an underworld power. No longer just a craftsman—now an enforcer. But his logic never changed. Only his setting did.
He remains the god who turns pressure into outcome.
Egypt never replaced him. It reassigned him.
Not a Demon — Why Shezmu Shouldn’t Be Feared
Modern readers often mistake Shezmu for a monster.
That reaction says more about us than about Egypt.
We are used to dividing the world into clean opposites: good gods and bad ones, light versus darkness, beauty versus brutality. Ancient Egypt did not think like that. It divided reality by function, not by feeling.
Shezmu did not exist to terrify.
He existed to make things happen.
Where we see violence, Egypt saw process.
Where we imagine evil, Egypt saw necessity.
Wine did not appear by magic. Oil did not flow by accident. Justice in the afterlife did not enforce itself. Pressure had to be applied. Something had to break. And the Egyptians assigned that moment a face.
Not a horned devil.
A worker.
Shezmu is frightening only if you expect the gods to comfort you. He was not built to soothe. He was built to transform. And transformation, when done honestly, never feels gentle.
To Egypt, he was not chaotic.
He was precise.
The Truth Behind the Myths — What the Texts Actually Say
A lot of what you read online about Shezmu comes from retelling, not from texts.
Blog posts describe him as a “butcher god,” a “blood demon,” even a “vampire deity.” None of those titles appear in Egyptian sources. What does appear is language about pressing, crushing, and extracting—the same verbs used for oil, wine, and punishment in sacred writing.
In pyramid and coffin texts, Shezmu is not portrayed hunting humans for pleasure. He is named when punishment must happen, not when drama is required. He does not stalk souls. He processes them.
The idea that he “turns blood into wine” is not ancient Egyptian poetry. It is modern exaggeration born from misunderstanding ritual metaphor. Egyptian texts compare enemies to grapes because grapes were what people knew. When they spoke of crushing, they reached for the strongest image in daily life.
That does not make Shezmu symbolic violence.
It makes him symbolic function.
He is mentioned when transformation must be unavoidable.
If a person was righteous, Shezmu never touched them.
If a person lied, he didn’t torture.
He exposed.
That difference matters.
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| Shezmu from his temple in Dendera |
Why Shezmu Still Matters
Shezmu is not a curiosity from a dark chapter of religion. He is a mirror.
Modern culture prefers transformation without pressure: success without strain, change without loss, pleasure without consequence. Egypt knew better. It built a god around the uncomfortable truth that nothing valuable is born intact.
Oil comes from force.
Wine comes from rupture.
Justice comes from confrontation.
Shezmu stands where those truths meet.
He matters now because he reminds us that discomfort is not failure. It is function. When something in life is being crushed, it may be because something new is being made.
Ancient Egypt did not ask its gods to be gentle.
It asked them to be effective.
Shezmu still answers that demand.
Key Takeaways
- Shezmu is a god of transformation, not a demon.
- Wine, oils, and blood share one logic: value is born through pressure.
- He ruled the process, not the product — the press, not the vineyard.
- His darker role in the afterlife reflects justice, not cruelty.
- Egyptian religion grouped gods by function, not by emotion.
- Modern portrayals exaggerate his violence and ignore his sacred purpose.
- Shezmu represents change that does not comfort — but completes.
Frequently Asked Questions about Shezmu
Who was Shezmu in ancient Egyptian religion?
Shezmu was a god of transformation through pressure, associated with wine, oils, perfumes, and punishment in the afterlife.
Was Shezmu an evil god?
No. He was not a demon or god of chaos, but a functional deity responsible for transformation and justice.
Why is Shezmu linked to both wine and blood?
Because both come from crushing or pressing; Egyptians grouped powers by process, not emotion.
Did people worship Shezmu directly?
He had no large cult, but appeared in funerary and ritual texts connected to judgment and purification.
Did Shezmu appear in the Book of the Dead?
Yes. He is mentioned among the divine agents who punish or purify the unworthy in the afterlife.
Was Shezmu ever worshiped as a joyful god?
Yes. In early periods, he was linked with wine and oils used in festivals and purification rites.
What is the biggest myth about Shezmu?
The idea that he was a “blood demon” comes from modern exaggeration, not ancient texts.
Why did Shezmu become darker later?
As Egyptian religion evolved, judgment became more complex, and Shezmu’s role expanded into the afterlife.
Is Shezmu unique among Egyptian gods?
Yes. Few gods combine craft, intoxication, fragrance, and punishment in one figure.
What does Shezmu represent symbolically?
Change through force — that valuable things are often created by pressure and loss.
Sources & Rights
- Wilkinson, Richard H. The Complete Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Egypt. London: Thames & Hudson, 2003.
- Pinch, Geraldine. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
- Lesko, Leonard H., ed. The Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. New York: HarperCollins, 1997.
- Allen, James P. Middle Egyptian: An Introduction to the Language and Culture of Hieroglyphs. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010.
- Faulkner, Raymond O. The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1973.
- Assmann, Jan. Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005.
- Baines, John. “Society, Morality, and Religious Practice.” In Religion in Ancient Egypt, edited by Byron Shafer. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991.
- Redford, Donald B., ed. The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001.
- Hart, George. The Routledge Dictionary of Egyptian Gods and Goddesses. London: Routledge, 2005.
- Clagett, Marshall. Ancient Egyptian Science, Volume II: Calendars, Clocks, and Astronomy. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1995.
Written by H. Moses — All rights reserved © Mythology and History
