Dying Words: Jesus and Muhammad

In a video about the famous last words of Jesus and Muhammad, David Wood suggests that we learn a lot about someone by pondering his dying words, especially if the person’s death is painful and agonizing. He’s a Christian apologist but makes an interesting point.

Jesus died by crucifixion, obviously a hideous ways to die, and as he hung on the cross, skin dangling like ribbons from his scourging, he said of his tormentors,

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.” (Lk 23:24)

Jesus had told his followers to love their enemies (Mt 5:44), and he practiced what he preached. If you can love and forgive your enemies while being crucified, you’ve pretty much outdone yourself. His words had an impact, as we see when the first Christian martyr Stephen was being stoned to death; he cried out similarly, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them!” (Acts 7:60)

Muhammad’s death was also agonizing. He was poisoned by a Jewish woman whose family had been slaughtered by Muslims, but the poison worked slowly, eating away at his organs. He said:

“May Allah curse the Jews and Christians, for they built the places of worship at the graves of the prophets.” (Sahih al-Bukari 1:8:427)

Muhammad’s dying prayer was not a forgiveness petition like Jesus’, but a curse. He was forbidding his followers to build a mosque on his grave, and made his point by calling down Allah’s curse on Jews and Christians, who were known for doing this sort of thing. Note the irony: Islam’s second largest mosque is in fact built over Muhammad’s grave in Medina. So if Jews and Christians are under Allah’s curse for building places of worship and the graves of their prophets, then so are Muslims. Muhammad in effect cursed not only unbelievers, but Muslims themselves.

For present purposes it doesn’t matter how historical the accounts are in the Christian and Islamic sources. What matters is that this is how Jesus and Muhammad are depicted, and it’s what many Christians and Muslims believe about their savior/prophet. Dying intentions speak volumes, and in these cases one is an act of extreme charity, the other a parting blow.


“If You Call Yourself a Jew”

I love the way RBL reviews come so after the fact. Philip Esler has reviewed Rafael Rodriguez’s work on Romans, which was published back in 2014. It’s a good excuse to revisit the book, which follows the Stowers school that Romans is addressed primarily to Gentiles, rather than (as I believe) a mixed audience of Jews and Gentiles. Why then does Romans sound so Jewish-oriented unlike the rest of Paul’s letters? Rodriguez’s solution is to view the interlocutor (conversation partner) of Rom 2:17 as a gentile proselyte to Judaism — in other words, as Rodriguez claims, someone of Gentile ethnicity but of Jewish religiosity, and who teaches Gentiles to become Jewish proselytes like himself.

As Esler points out in his review, this allows Rodriguez to have his cake and eat it, for the person addressed in Rom 2:17 is both a Gentile and a Jew: “Paul still imagines a gentile in vv. 17 ff., only now this gentile has taken on the yoke of Torah — an individual of gentile origin who wants to call himself a Jew”. But how is this person a transgressor of the Torah, even to the point that his circumcision breaks the law? Rodriguez’s answer is that the circumcision wasn’t performed on the eighth day as required by Lev. 12:3. Esler asks for “some evidence for the idea that a law requiring adult Israelites to circumcise their sons on the eighth day could be, or ever was, invoked as a bar, or indeed have any relevance, to adult non-Israelites wishing to join Israel and willing to be circumcised to do so.” Indeed, I can’t imagine that being an obstacle at all. Not only were there probably Jewish sons circumcised on days other than the eighth, Abraham himself (Paul’s hero) wasn’t understood to be in the Old Testament or intertestamental literature.

Esler also warns about false distinctions between “ethnic” and “religious” Jews, saying that “becoming a Jew/Judean through circumcision and adoption of Jewish/Judean customs meant adoption of Jewish/Judean ethnic identity, not the adoption of a separable and separate Jewish religious identity, which was nonexistent in the first century.” Then there are the Jewish addresses of Rom 16, which Rodriguez (following Stowers) sees as third-party greetings rather than greetings to the actual recipients of the letter — which I agree with Esler asks a bit much.

I admire Rodríguez’s argument as much as I see problems with it. As someone who has spent years on Romans, I’m continually intrigued by various solutions to the audience puzzle. For Rodríguez, Rom 1:18–1:31 addresses the depraved immoral pagan, 2:1–16 the elitist moralizing pagan, and 2:17–29 the gentile proselyte to Judaism. That last allows him creativity at the point of Rom 7:9 which says, “I once lived apart from the law.”

The more plausible outline, as I see it, is to look at the overarching argument of Rom 1:18-3:20, where Paul takes down Gentiles and Jews, but in different ways, so as to put them on the same playing field while underscoring differences so as to reduce competition between the two ethnic factions. One of the key points of Esler’s 2003 book is that in Romans Paul avoids saying, “In Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek” (Gal 3:28). He’s more enlightened than he was in I Corinthians and Galatians, and learning from his failures now understands that there should indeed be “Jew and Greek in Christ”, at least to a significant degree, so that differences can be respected rather than erased. On that understanding, the outline of Rom 1:18-3:20 would look like this:

Both groups are judged (1:18-3:20)

1. Gentiles are judged apart from the law (1:18-2:5)

2. Gentiles are subject to a “natural” law written on their pagan hearts, as much as Jews are to the Torah (2:6-16)

1′. Jews are judged by the law (2:17-2:29)

2′. Jews under the law are dominated by the power of sin as much as Gentiles under ungodliness, though in a completely different way: the law accentuates sin when transgression occurs (3:1-20)

The equal attention paid to both Gentile and Jewish factions in Rome is then repeated in Rom 6:1-7:25, this time from the standpoint of baptism and death.

Both groups die (6:1-7:25)

— Both die to the power of sin (6:1-15)

1. Gentiles die to sin and become slaves of God (6:16-23)

2. Jews die to the law and become slaves of the spirit (7:1-25)

Again, both groups are seen to be on the same footing but in different ways. And “dying to the law” in Rom 7 is run parallel to the Eden story in Genesis. Rodriguez’s view that Rom 7:9 — “I once lived apart from the law” — refers to a Gentile proselyte is too superficial for Paul’s overarching purpose.

For reasons that escape me, many persist in denying the focus of the Genesis story. Esler himself is guilty of this, but to me it’s rather clear that Adam looms over the section of Rom 5-8, and comes to particular focus in the parallels of Rom 7:7-13, where “alive” and newly created, he is placed in Eden (Gen. 2:7-9) and “commanded” by God not to eat of the tree of life (Gen. 2:16-17), whereafter the serpent “seizes opportunity” to further its own ends (Gen. 3:1-5) and Eve complains that she was “deceived” (Gen. 3:13). God then kills humanity, punishing it with mortality (Gen. 3:19,22-23). As much as I’ve tried in the past, I can’t escape the conclusion that Paul has deliberately assumed the role of Adam in order to “prove” that life under the Torah replicates Adam/Eve’s failure under the commandment in Eden. His argument is an exegetical one, in effect urging that the traps and snares of the Torah trace back to the horror of the fall, which in turn fulfills his ambitious desire to prove that Jews are no better under the law (7:1-25), than Gentiles are under ungodliness (6:16-23), each requiring the dramatic rescue operation of 8:1-17.

At the very least, Esler’s review is good cause to revisit Rodriguez’s stimulating explanation as to why Paul’s interlocutor “calls himself a Jew”. I have to admit it’s one of the better efforts from the Stowers camp.

Paul’s Death Metaphors: A Conflicted Soteriology

If you need something to read for Good Friday/Easter, make it Stephen Finlan’s The Background and Content of Paul’s Cultic Atonement Metaphors. It’s a detailed analysis of how Paul thought Christ’s death had saving power, and while no single answer emerges, at least one can be safely excluded: the Protestant idea of penal substitution. The idea that “Christ stands in for the sinner” is absent in Paul’s letters, despite his rich variety of death metaphors.

There are four metaphors, as Finlan shows: (1) martyrdom, (2) sacrifice, (3) scapegoat, and (4) ransom payment. For Paul, Christ was a martyr who also functioned as a sacrificial paschal lamb, mercy seat of faith, sin-bearer, and redeemer all in one. The metaphors are different and even at odds with each other, so let’s go through them.

Paul’s favorite metaphor: martyrdom

I call it his favorite because he uses it most. It is best explained in Jeffrey Gibson’s essay, “Paul’s Dying Formula”, cited by Finlan, which argues that Paul inverted the “noble death” theme found in Greek literature (see pp 196-197). “X dies for Y” referred to the warrior ideal by which heroes die for friends, family, city, or religious ideas, though never for enemies. So when Paul says that “Christ died for sinners”, and for his enemies at that (and by submitting to dishonor on the cross rather than going down in combat), he was invoking martyrdom and giving it a brutal twist. Christ died for the benefit of sinners and ungodly people and he went down in shame. The point is that “Christ died for us” doesn’t refer to sacrifice or atonement (far less penal substitution). It refers to martyrdom.

So how does martyrdom benefit the believer? What does Christ’s death “do” for the sinner, if not atone? Surprisingly, Finlan doesn’t mention David Seeley’s The Noble Death, which deals with the subject at some length. Like Gibson, Seeley thinks Paul’s view is closest to that of the Maccabean martyrs and Greco-Roman philosophers. In IV Maccabees the Judean heroes defeat tyranny through defiance and obedience to the Torah, dying for it (IV Macc 1:11; 18:4). In a Greco-Roman context, a philosopher like Socrates dies in prison in order to free humanity from the fear of death and imprisonment (Seneca, Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales 24:4), an example followed by Cato who kills himself rather than be captured by Caesar. The deaths of the martyrs and philosophers benefit others who follow their example and die virtuously.

And what is the benefit to following Christ’s example? According to Paul, believers die with him at baptism, reenacting his death by destroying the sinful body and gaining release from enslavement to sin (Rom 6:1-11; 8:10). To be sure, Christians have only begun to die — and they’re not literally crucified like Jesus — but the “mimetic pattern”, says Seeley, is exactly the same. Just as copying a martyr gains victory over a tyrant, or copying a philosopher gains victory over fortune, copying Christ gains victory over sin and death. “Christ died for us” means that one can achieve the same victory by dying as Christ did. It does not mean that Christ died as a sacrifice of atonement, or ransom payment… though Paul does happen to believe that Christ’s death functioned in those ways too.

The importance of all four elements

Seeley notes that the idea of sacrifice sometimes creeps in to martyrdom theology. The blood of the Maccabean martyrs served as “an atoning sacrifice” (IV Macc. 17:21-22); the blood of Thrasea’s suicide was sprinkled on the ground as a libation to the gods (Tacitus, Annals 16:35); the blood of Christ was put forward in atonement as the messiah became a new “mercy seat of faith” (Rom 3:25). But Seeley thinks these sacrificial metaphors are subsidiary, supplementing the far more important martyrdom theme.

Finlan refutes attempts to downplay the importance of sacrifice and other elements. Martyrdom may have been Paul’s “favorite” idea, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it was his most important. Martyrdom provided a platform for other ideas that were imperative for him and other Christians of his time: cultic sacrifice, scapegoat, and ransom-payment:

“Martyrdom seems to have been absorbed into these other metaphors, to be interpreted by them; it may be the most fundamental of Paul’s concepts, but its meaning requires the usage of metaphors from the cultic and social realms.” (p 193)

This is the strength of Finlan’s approach, as it takes all of Paul’s ideas seriously, and integrates them without glossing or distorting ideas currently out of favor. Here are the texts pertaining to each metaphor.

(1) Martyrdom/Noble Death — I Cor 8:11, I Cor 15:3, II Cor 5:15 (x2), Rom 5:6-8 (x2), Rom 14:9, Gal 2:20-21, I Thess 5:9-10

(2) Sacrifice — Rom 3:25, I Cor 5:7, I Cor 11:25

(3) Scapegoat — Gal 3:13, II Cor 5:21, Rom 6:6, Rom 7:4, Rom 8:3

(4) Ransom/Redemption — I Cor 6:20, 7:23

Paul believed all of this, and it was a bold fusion on his part. Finlan devotes an entire chapter to distinguishing sacrifices from scapegoats, showing why their fusion in the Christian tradition is radical. Scapegoats were not sacrifices but rather expulsion victims, and opposite in every way. Sacrifices were pure and offered reverently to God; scapegoats impure and driven out harshly to a wilderness demon. The former were spotless and their blood was a cleansing agent; the latter were sin carriers, vile and corrupt (see pp 81-93). To portray an individual as a sacrifice and scapegoat at the same time, as Paul did, would have been an oxymoron. Putting all four together makes this game of metaphors schizophrenic in the extreme.

How sacrifice worked

But how did sacrifice, whether traditional Jewish or Christian, effect atonement? It served a propitiatory function, appeasing an angry God as a “food bribe”. The idea of propitiatory substitution was different from the later (Protestant) idea of penal substitution. In penal substitution the sacrifice “stands in” to take the punishment of the offender, and that’s what most of us today associate with atonement. But propitiatory substitution involves a pure sinless offering, offered as payment to a sovereign deity in order to appease his anger and wrath.

As the Torah became increasingly important, sacrifice also took on a purifying/expiatory role, the cleansing of impurity and sin. Lev 17:11 explains: “For the life of the flesh is in the blood; and I have given it to you for making atonement for your lives on the altar; for, as life, it is the blood that makes atonement.” (Lev 17:11) When harnessed properly, the life-force that resides within blood somehow reverses the anti-life of sin and pollution.

In other words, by the time of the Holiness Code of Leviticus, propitiatory-substitution and expiatory understandings had become fused: tribute payment and animistic cleansing both explained how sacrifice atones for sin. The context of Rom 3:25 shows that Paul believed both. His explanation that Christ is the new mercy seat involves both propitiation (appeasing God) and expiation (cleansing of sinners) (p 135). Gentiles would have probably heard propitiatory themes in the background, while Jews and God-fearers would have heard both (pp 141-143). Propitiatory themes dominate, however, since the cultic act of Rom 3:25 offsets the divine wrath recounted previously at great length in Rom 1:18-3:20 (p 144). But the idea of penal substitution, developed centuries later by Protestant reformers, is alien to Paul’s thought. (The Catholic view of satisfaction substitution is the one that more properly derives from propitiatory-substitution.)

That’s the sacrifice passage of Romans, anyway. What about the sacrifice passages of I Corinthians (5:7 and 11:25), where Christ is depicted not as a mercy seat (for the Day of Atonement), but as a paschal lamb (for Passover)? Passover sacrifice did not atone/forgive; it protected. Yahweh “passed over” those so protected when he came in judgment. The ancient tradition of Israelites smearing lamb blood on the doors of their homes was so that God would deliver his people from oppressors. In the eucharist tradition (I Cor 5:7, I Cor 11:25), the flesh and blood of the passover lamb was replaced by Jesus’ own “body and blood”, in the bread and wine, which was likewise intended to protect (not propitiate or purify as in the rite of atonement) his followers from God’s fiery judgment against Jerusalem and its leaders.

That’s a lot of ideas Paul makes room for, but for all the variety there’s not a hint of penal substitution. The only passage in the New Testament which possibly provides a basis for penal substitution is I Pet 2:24b, which owes to Isa 53:4-5, “by his wounds we are healed”. This may indicate that (for the writer of I Peter), Christ, like Israel’s servant, died in place of others. Aside from this one text, however, there is nothing in the NT pointing to Christ’s death as a penal substitute — certainly nothing in Paul.

The evolution of sacrifice

A fascinating part of Finlan’s book is his discussion of the way sacrifice evolves in practice and thought. Though it irritates many scholars to speak of evolution in a way that suggests “progress through spiritualization”, it’s a matter of fact that “a heightening of intellectual culture brings a heightening of moral sensibility, and calls bloody sacrifice into question” (p 46). Finlan proposes that sacrifice evolves away from its primitive roots in six stages: substitution, moralization, interiorization, metaphorization, rejection, and spiritualization (see pp 47-70):

1. Substitution, occurring when human sacrifice (Gen 22:2) becomes replaced with animal sacrifice (or other foodstuffs) (Exod 13:2,12-13; 34:20; Num 18:15).

2. Moralization (or reformism), attributing new spiritual and abstract meanings to the practice of sacrifice (Psalm 4, Malachi).

3. Interiorization, asserting that what matters to the deity is the right attitude and a clean heart, though sacrifice is not rejected (I Sam 15, Psalm 51, Psalm 141, Proverb 15, Proverb 21, I & II Enoch).

4. Metaphorization, applying cultic ideas to non-cultic practices; sacrifice is valued on a metaphorical level (IV Maccabees, Paul, Philo, Greco-Roman philosophers).

5. Rejection, repudiating the sacrificial cult altogether (Amos, Hosea, Micah, Jeremiah, and Isaiah 1).

6. Spiritualization, interiorizing religious values to the extreme that transformation of the human character has become the chief goal of religious faith (Middle Platonic philosophies, the patristic and Greek Orthodox concept of theosis).

Paul values sacrifice on the metaphorical level, superseding without rejecting the temple cult. In saying that “God put forward Christ in a bloody death as a mercy seat of faith” (Rom 3:25), he claims that the crucified Christ has become for the world what the mercy seat was for Israel. Or in saying that Christ is the new paschal lamb (I Cor 5:7, I Cor 11:25), he claims that the savior’s blood protects believers against the wrath of God poured out on oppressors and the wicked.

Supersessionism is inherent to levels 3/4 (interiorization/ metaphorization), when death and glory are seen simultaneously in the old system (as in II Cor 3:6-11; Philip 3:4b-11). But it gets complicated, because sometimes a view of sacrifice can be found straddling many levels. And there are subtypes within levels. For instance, level 4 metaphorization can involve either typology (Paul) or allegory (Philo). Typology can lean in a direction of level 2/3 (reform/interiorization) or 5 (rejection) without taking sides. Allegory, meanwhile, involves a strategy of replacement along levels 1/3/5 (literal/ interiorization/ rejection). So typology sees fulfillment, whereas allegory sees replacement; each is a variation of the level 4 stage. (See pp 68-70)

Jesus’ thoughts on the matter…?

What would the historical Jesus have thought about all this? Did he have a martyr’s complex and brace himself (and his followers) for a “noble death” as he prepared to take on Jerusalem? Did he have even more radical ideas — cultic ideas which scholars are loathe to attribute to Paul, let alone him? I suspect that, at the very least, Jesus had a martyr’s complex, believing that his suffering and death were part of the tribulation period that preceded the apocalypse. He may also have attributed sacrificial (Mk 14:22-25/Mt 26:26-29) and/or ransom elements (Mk 10:45/Mt 20:28) to his death as reported in the gospels, but I suspect that he didn’t.

Finlan’s book is the best I know of that does justice to Paul’s understanding of Christ’s death. We may have little use for “barbaric” ideas like cultic atonement and bloody sacrifice, but for better or worse they were part of his theology, integrated into a broader framework of martyrdom. The variety of metaphors makes Paul conflicted to say the least, but there you have it.

Babatha’s Orchard

Last week Gloucestershire Live published an article about an “Indiana Jones” biblical scholar who made a great discovery. Usually that’s a warning to count the spoons and brace for impact. But the scholar in question is Philip Esler — just about the last name you would associate with crackpot archaeology. So what is Babatha’s Orchard about?

In the first pages of the book Esler assures us:

“There are no Arks of the Covenant, hidden temple vessels, Holy Grails, lost Gospels or Mary Magdalens here. Instead this is a tale of domestic life. It is the story of how, around 99 CE, Shim’on, Babatha’s father, unexpectedly came to acquire an irrigated date-palm orchard in his village of Maoza, on the southern shore of the Dead Sea, in the kingdom of Nabatea.” (p xvi)

Babatha’s Orchard is exciting to read because it’s real. It offers a window onto everyday life in antiquity, unencumbered by sensationalism. That window is provided by the Babatha collection, discovered in 1961 by a team of archaeologists, which are the possessions of a second-century Jewish woman including sandals, balls of yarn, key-rings, knives, bowls, waterskins, and other items — and also a pouch containing 35 legal documents. These documents are dated between 94 and 132 AD, and consist of various contracts for purchase of property, loans, weddings, and the registration of land.

Esler is concerned with the earliest four documents, Papyri Yadin 1-4, the first of which dates to 94, the other three to 99. P. Yadin 2 and 3 describe the purchase of a date-palm orchard, first by a Nabatean high-ranking official named Archelaus, second by a Judean (Jew) named Shim’on (the future father of Babatha) only a month later — but purchased both times from the same woman. Esler not only reconstructs what went on between P. Yadin 2 and 3, he also argues that P. Yadin 1 and 4 bear on the same issue. “No one seems to have asked,” says Esler, “why the first and fourth documents were found in the archive in the first place.” Why did Babatha, years later, keep copies of these legal documents? They presumably had some relevance to the orchard acquired by her father and should help make sense of that event.

The mystery of P. Yadin 1

P. Yadin 1 describes a transaction in 94 AD that at first blush seems to have nothing to do with the orchard sale (and resale) in 99. Basically a Nabatean named Muqima borrowed money from his wife’s dowry to purchase a lease of property, and to share the investment risk enlisted a partner whose name was Abad-Amanu. What no one seems to have realized before Esler is that the Abad-Amanu of P. Yadi 1 is none other than the father of Archelaus, the buyer of the orchard in P. Yadin 2 — a link that proves of “critical importance in unlocking the mystery behind these documents” (p 111).

The mystery is how Abi-adan (the woman who owned the orchard) sold the orchard to Archelaus (P. Yadin 2) and then only a month later sold it to Shim’on (P. Yadin 3). Scholars have suggested that Abi-adan annulled her agreement with Archelaus when Shim’on offered a better deal, but Esler refutes this, for there is no way Abi-adan could simply have reneged on her deal which gave Archelaus legal rights. Not to mention the extreme unlikelihood that a non-elite woman would act in such a capricious way towards a strategos (a government official charged with both civil and military duties, as Archelaus was) (p 140). No, it must have been that Archelaus himself backed out of the agreement, requesting that Abi-adan annul the contract and refund his money. But why?

Esler spots the reason under our noses in P. Yadin 1 — and the reason for which that seemingly unrelated document is in the Babatha collection to begin with. The partner of that earlier transaction, Abad-Amanu, died soon after Archelaus bought the orchard in 99, and he was Archelaus’ father. At this point the woman (Amat-Isi) was still owed money under the loan agreement with her husband Muqima and Abad-Amanu. Esler argues that Nabatean law provided for universal succession (like the legal systems of Mesopotomia, Rome, and certain Judean provinces), which means that an heir (like Archelaus) received the entire estate of the deceased (Abad-Amanu), benefits and debt included. Amat-Isi would have been calling on Archelaus to pay Abad-Amanu’s debt, and his honor as a strategos was at stake. So he appealed to Abi-adan to rescind the bargain of P. Yadin 2. That turn of fate immensely benefited the Judean (Jewish) Shim’on, who was probably passed over the first go-around in favor of the strategos, and was now waiting in the wings to buy the orchard.

The mystery of P. Yadin 4

That triggers the second mystery, the one of P. Yadin 4, which survives as a fragmentary document without any legible names, but which Esler believes to allow more restoration than scholars have realized. Through brilliant detective work he shows that P. Yadin 4 is a grant (a cross between a gift and a sale, or a transfer of property where the return wasn’t necessarily a purchase price), and indeed the very grant mentioned in P. Yadin 3. Shim’on wanted to buy a larger portion of the orchard than Archelaus did, and Abi-adan was apparently planning to acquire that extra piece of orchard from a certain “son of Lutay”, who would give it to her as a grant. In P. Yadin 4 we have exactly that: someone saying that he will grant an orchard to a female.

More sleuthing on Esler’s part makes everything fall into place, as this “son of Lutay” emerges as the likely husband of Abi-adan. He acknowledges that he is debt to her in P. Yadin 4, and that he will reduce his debt by transferring the extra piece of orchard to her (which he was currently leasing to someone else, to expire in a few months). Esler points out that when men are indebted to women, it’s almost invariably the case of husbands indebted to their wives for having drawn on the wife’s dowry. Also, back in P. Yadin 3, Abi-adan and the son of Lutay are referred to together solely by their first names, which is a familiar manner of designation suggesting a married pair.

The relevance of Nabatean culture

Like any Philip Esler book, Babatha’s Orchard is prefaced by chapters of background history and cultural cues. I hadn’t realized how egalitarian the Nabateans were compared to their contemporaries, and that the ethic apparently pervaded all the way up to the kingship. Esler cites Strabo who describes the Nabatean king as a “man of the people” who served them at banquets, and who accounted for himself at popular assemblies where his means and methods were scrutinized. That’s a humble model of kingship hard to find elsewhere in the ancient Mediterranean.

Esler accounts for this in terms of the nomadic mindset. From their earliest days (in the fourth century BC) the Nabateans jealously guarded their independence and freedom. They were able to take refuge in the desert when forces invaded, and were hard for enemies to overcome because of secret wells they could access. Fredrik Barth has explained how nomadic household leaders had a freedom that was incompatible with the hierarchical structures of agrarian societies.

“Unlike a sedentary community, which persists unless the members abandon their house and land and depart, a camp community of nomads can only persist through a continuous re-affirmation by all its members. Every day the members of the camp must agree in their decision on the vital question of whether to move on, or to stay camped, and if they move, by which route and how far they should move. Every household head has an opinion, and the prosperity of the household is dependent on his decision.” (p 38)

Even after the emergence of a sedentary lifestyle and the kingship (in the second century BC), the Nabateans retained a nomadic dimension to their existence right up into the second century AD. The king and the elites were in sync with this.

This becomes relevant when Esler is able to illuminate things in surprising ways. For example, in his reconstruction, Amat-Isi (the woman of P. Yadin 1) called on Archelaus to collect the debt his father owed her. But Archelaus was a strategos, and in most places in the Mediterranean, it would have been a bold if not suicidal move on the part of a woman (or non-elite man, for that matter) to risk affronting an elite. As a rule, however, the Nabateans disdained elitist superiority and didn’t go out of their way to make life difficult for “presumptuous” commoners:

“Influenced by the nomadic traditions still operative among the Nabatean elite, Archelaus was not someone filled with his own sense of importance and was not likely to hold it against Amat-Isi in the future that she had asked him for the money his father had owed.” (p 224)

Not exactly how things worked in Judea and Galilee.

The Upshot

If I could write a book like Babatha’s Orchard, I’d be very proud. Rarely can scholars piece together missing and obscured information so compellingly, and in a way that allows us to read it as a story. Esler writes that story in the final chapter — how a Jew living in Nabatea bought a date-palm orchard from a woman after a high-ranking official failed to do so — bringing to life a complex web of events, personal motives, and social relations. It’s a story one could easily get a novel from. The book is also impressive as a study for its own sake and not as a means to an end. “I am not concerned,” says Esler, “to interpret New Testament texts against a social context known from the Nabatean legal papyri. Rather, I am seeking to understand better that context itself.” That’s fresh air, and the kind of thing I’d love to see more from our New Testament scholars.

The post-script to Babatha’s story is sad. In the Jewish revolt of 135 AD, she was captured by the Romans and in all likelihood killed or enslaved. But not before hiding her collection in a cave by the Dead Sea, to await discovery in 1961. Esler’s book honors her in the best possible way.

Concession or Critique: “The Poor You Will Always Have With You”

the-woman-anointing-jesus-feetIs Jesus’ saying a concession to the fact of poverty, or a critique of its continuing presence? Ray Vaillancourt argues the latter in his recent blogpost, and I think he’s probably right.

The relevant story is that of Mk 14:3-9/Mt 26:6-13/Jn 12:1-11, in which Jesus retorts, “The poor you will always have with you”, to his disciples, who are furious over a woman’s extravagant waste. The story actually seems to suggest that the disciples were concerned about the poor on that occasion, and not Jesus. The message would then be that followers of Jesus should resign themselves to the eternal reality of poverty — as long as Christians do “something nice for Jesus”, their consciences are clean.

If that’s true, then Jesus was radically revising Deuteronomy 15, sort of like the way Paul revised the figure of Abraham in Genesis 15 (by ignoring the stipulations of Genesis 17). Paul said that circumcision and ethnic commandments did not have to accompany faith. Jesus, if he were pulling a Paul, would be saying that jubilee and other debt provisions were no longer mandatory. Here’s the full relevant passage in Deuteronomy, with verses 4-5 and 11 in bold:

At the end of every third year you shall bring out all the tithes of your produce for that year and deposit them within your own communities, that the Levite who has no hereditary portion with you, and also the resident alien, the orphan and the widow within your gates, may come and eat and be satisfied; so that the Lord, your God, may bless you in all that you undertake. At the end of every seven-year period you shall have a remission of debts, and this is the manner of the remission. Creditors shall remit all claims on loans made to a neighbor, not pressing the neighbor, one who is kin, because the Lord’s remission has been proclaimed. You may press a foreigner, but you shall remit the claim on what your kin owes to you. However, since the Lord will bless you abundantly in the land the Lord will give you to possess as a heritage, there shall be no one of you in need if you but listen to the voice of the Lord and carefully observe this entire commandment which I enjoin on you today. Since the Lord will bless you as he promised, you will lend to many nations, and borrow from none; you will rule over many nations, and none will rule over you. If one of your kindred is in need in any community in the land which the Lord is giving you, you shall not harden your heart nor close your hand against your kin who is in need. Instead, you shall freely open your hand and generously lend what suffices to meet that need. Be careful not to entertain the mean thought, “The seventh year, the year of remission, is near,” so that you would begrudge your kin who is in need and give nothing, and your kin would cry to the Lord against you and you would be held guilty. When you give, give generously and not with a stingy heart; for that, the Lord will bless you in all your works and undertakings. The land will never lack for needy persons; that is why I command you: “Open your hand freely to your poor and to your needy kin in your land.” (Deuteronomy 14:28-15:11)

As Ray notes in his blogpost, verses 4-5 supply a vision which verse 11 acknowledges won’t be realized, due to the conditional requirement: if you observe the law, then there will be no one in need. “Observing the law” in this case includes commandments like the forgiveness of debts every seven years, and the Jubilee redistribution of wealth every 49 years to clean the mounting slate of injustices. In effect, the Deuteronomy passage is saying that “If you cancel debts as required by the law, then there will be no one in need. If you don’t charge loans with interest, then there will be no one in need. If you keep the law in the spirit of Deuteronomy and the prophets (and less by the lights of Leviticus and the scribes), then there will indeed be abundance for everyone in the land.”

But that returns us to the question: was this in fact Jesus’ understanding of Deuteronomy 15, or was he, as our modern Republicans insist, spinning Deuteronomy 15 in a new lais·sez-faire way — saying in effect, “The poor you will always have, so just live with it and don’t worry.” The Republicans have a case, because if anything it’s the disciples who seem to be reinforcing Deuteronomy 15, not Jesus, who is scolding them for sticking up for the poor. The problem lies in their sincerity. Ray cites Malina and Rohrbaugh, who note that a female with free access to a dinner attended by males would be a woman of questionable reputation, and the resentful disciples are simply using poverty rhetoric to shame this woman. They’re more angry at her presumption than her wastefulness. By defending her Jesus is fending off their hypocrisy more than anything else. (Also, in the context of the larger gospel narrative, the oil she’s using isn’t a self-indulgent meal anointing, but a preparation for Jesus’ burial — a devotional act which resounds to the messiah’s honor.) In John’s version of the story, the hypocrisy is made explicit with the character of Judas, who defended the poor, “not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief and held the money bag and used to steal the contributions”.

In other words, in retorting “The poor you will always have with you,” Jesus brings Deuteronomy 15 into the spotlight in order to hold the disciples to their word. It’s meaningless to get indignant over injustices if you’re not committed to rectifying them, or if you’re just playing the social-justice warrior to cover for self-righteousness or prejudice. The disciples were doing one or the other or both, in over-zealously faulting a woman with good intentions.

Of course, Republicans can always rely on the face-value reading of Jesus’ saying. They can claim that a new day had dawned, and Jesus dispensed with the debt provisions of Deuteronomy — just like Paul later did with the circumcision requirement of Genesis. But I think that’s a heavy lift, given that the gospel testimony is replete for activism on this point, not least in the way Jesus tells disciples to sell everything they have and give to the poor. People like Jesus and Paul were as likely to reinforce scripture as revise it. Paul revised Genesis 15/17 for the benefit of his pagan converts. Jesus reinforced Deuteronomy 15 for the welfare of the poor.

“God is all for immigration”: A fundamentalist-Bible proof

hqdefaultOver ten years ago, Pastor Steven Anderson proved from the bible that God is all for immigration (May 7, 2006). It’s interesting that this sermon is being recirculated online in view of the current “Muslim ban”, which deserves a few comments before getting to Anderson’s argument.

Some are defending Trump’s executive order by noting that it isn’t really a ban on Muslims entering the country, but only a moratorium (temporary halt) on immigration from seven particular jihadist hotspots. While that is correct, it’s not the most compelling justification, given that Saudia Arabia isn’t on the list, even though it spends millions of dollars promoting jihadist warfare all over the world, and even though most of the 9/11 hijackers came from there. Not a single American has been killed by a citizen of any of the seven banned countries in 40 years, so the question is why do we need a moratorium for proper vetting to occur?

On the other hand, Trump’s critics aren’t always on the ball. Their claim that places like Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, and Lebanon were excluded from the order because of Trump’s business interests is highly questionable. The list of seven countries was established in laws signed by Obama in the last two years, and Trump’s executive order does not even list the seven countries by name except (obviously) Syria. It simply refers to the “countries referred to in section 217(a)(12) of the INA, 8 U.S.C. 1187(a)(12).” All Trump did was lift a preexisting template. I’m not saying it’s a good one, and I don’t support a moratorium in any case — not even against a place like Saudi Arabia. It’s just not a proper way of dealing with refugee plights, and I believe it’s also an ineffective counter to the (very real) jihad threat. But let’s not spin-doctor Trump’s motives either.

On to Anderson’s sermon…

The sermon is noteworthy because Anderson is a renowned hate-preacher (at least when it comes to gay people) and he is so hardcore in his fundamentalist beliefs that he has been disowned by most other fundies. So when he goes out of his way to condemn Donald Trump as an “abomination to the Lord”, and that anyone who supports Donald Trump is “wicked as hell” (see here), and on top of that defends the rights of immigrants in the eyes of God, with assertions that Muslims or anyone else should be able to come and practice their religion in the U.S. without any governmental interference — well, that’s rather saying something.

Here is his biblical proof:

**** God is all for immigration****. “Everyone in America is an immigrant,” says Anderson, “except for the Native American Indians,” and so anyone opposing immigration sets themselves against God’s will. Against those who say that the less people we have, the better off we are, God’s wisdom says that the more people we have, the better off we are (Proverbs 14:28). God, moreover, specifically tells his followers to welcome and love the immigrant:

  • “The stranger (immigrant) that dwells with you shall be as one born among you, and you shall love him as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:34).
  • “You shall neither vex a stranger nor oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 22:21; cf.23:9; Leviticus 19:33).
  • Ruth wondered why she should receive grace, given that she was an immigrant from Moab. Yet Boaz took care of her anyway, and told others to treat her well. (Ruth 2:10-16)

Anderson offers the following caveats:

1. Immigrants must obey the laws of the land. God, in other words, doesn’t approve illegal immigration. Natives and immigrants are bound by the same laws: “You shall have one manner of law, as well for the stranger as for one of your own country” (Leviticus 24:22). No double standards are allowed.

2. Immigrants must learn the language of the land. Anderson appeals to the example of Nehemiah, who went ballistic over immigrants who couldn’t speak native Hebrew: “I saw Jews who had married women of Ashdod, Ammon, and Moab; and half of their children spoke the language of Ashdod, and they could not speak the language of Judah. And I contended with them and cursed them and beat some of them and pulled out their hair; and I made them take oath in the name of God, saying, ‘You shall not give your daughters to their sons, or take their daughters for your sons or for yourselves.'” (Nehemiah 13:23-25)

3. Immigrants can practice their religion, but they must respect the religion of the land. Anderson is a staunch libertarian: “Immigrants should have freedom of religion, and to practice whatever religion they want. If they want to be a Muslim, that’s fine. God bless them, I don’t want them to be forced to be a Christian, I’m totally against that. I’m 100% for religious freedom.” But he also believes they must respect Christianity in the way immigrants had to respect the Israelite faith in Old Testament times: “When they start blaspheming the religion of the land, they cross the line (Leviticus 24:16). They can practice whatever religion they want, but they have no right to come here and badmouth the religion of the land, or to try and change it.”

Anderson says, “I’m probably the most non-racist person you’ve ever laid eyes on in your life. I’m not racist at all. If half of this nation was Hispanic, or if 75% of this nation was Hispanic, or if 99% was Hispanic, or black, or anything, I would be thrilled. But what I’m against is when they say, ‘I don’t want to be like an American with freedom. I want to bring my culture and my language and change your country, so it can be like the hell-hole that I came from.'”

That last may not be the most diplomatic way of putting it, but for a fundamentalist of Anderson’s stripe, his biblical case for immigration is, on whole, rather impressive. I certainly wouldn’t object to hearing it preached from more pulpits across the nation.

Thrown into the Sea: Recovering the Exodus

horse-and-the-riderThe song about “the horse and the rider thrown into the sea” (Exodus 15:21) was a Sunday school favorite when I was growing up. It’s ridiculously cheesy but gave me thrills to imagine a pissed-off deity raining destruction down on slavers and despots. Even at that age I had the bloodthirsty streak that would find its outlet in horror and war genres. Today my interest in the exodus is more secular and esoteric. I have believed there is little historical basis to the biblical origin of Israel, because archaeology has nothing to show for it. But it depends on when, as much as where, you look for the evidence.

Until recently I had looked in the time of Ramesses II, as most scholars do. Let’s review the options.

Option (a): Ramesses II (c. 1250 BC)

The common view is based on Exodus 1:11 and 12:37, a literal reading of which places the exodus in the time of Egypt’s 19th dynasty under Ramessess II. Because there is zero archaeological confirmation of an exodus and military invasion of Canaan during Ramesses’ reign, the following alternative theories have been offered to explain Israelite origins in the 1250-1100 period.

  • Peaceful Infiltration. In The Settlement of the Israelites in Palestine (1925), Albrecht Alt proposed that instead of the conquest out of Egypt described in Joshua 1-11, there was a gradual influx of nomads with their flocks from the eastern deserts into the central hill country. The infiltrators searched for pasturage and eventually settled the sparsely populated areas between urban centers. In other words, the stories of Joshua 1-11 are myths.
  • Peasant Revolt. In “The Hebrew Conquest of Palestine” (1962) and The Tenth Generation: The Origins of the Biblical Tradition (1973), George Mendenhall argued that the origin of Israel was neither the result of a military invasion nor peaceful settlement, but a peasant revolt. Self-identified Israelites grew out of the indigenous shepherds, peasants and farmers rebelling against their Canaanite overlords. A small group of Semitic slaves may have escaped from Egypt and provided the catalyst to all of this, which would be the kernel of truth behind the war stories of Joshua 1-11.
  • Agricultural Resettlement. In The Bible Unearthed (2001), Israel Finkelstein (with coauthor Neil Asher Silberman) maintained there was no military invasion, peaceful infiltration, or peasant revolution. Israel emerged directly from within the Canaanite society of the lowlands, when it came into conflict with the Canaanite centers of the hill country. The emergence of early Israel was an outcome of the collapse of Canaanite culture, not its cause, coming mostly from within. In other words, the early Israelites were Canaanites themselves.

It’s worth noting that Alt was a pacifist, Mendenhall a hard leftist who wrote in the wake of the Cuban revolution (1953-59), and Finkelstein has gained voice in a time of increased sensitivity for modern Palestinians (=”ancient Israelites”) who are deemed to have as much claim to the land as Jews (=”Canaanites”). Which isn’t to say that biases rule out the theories, only that these readings cut against the grain of the text and carry meanings in an age where ideas about military conquests and national invasions are increasingly out of favor.

For years I accepted Mendenhall’s view. I was taught it in my Old Testament class back in 1989, and it seemed a reasonable alternative. True, I was aware of the artificiality of a “peasant Israel”, since in antiquity blood ties were everything and trumped social-class bonds. (For the latter-day Jesus to base his religious family on social kin at the expense of biology is one thing; for an entire nation to emerge on the premise of social-class kinship is quite another.) But unlike the other two theories, it at least takes the text of Joshua with some seriousness. The point is that all of these theories exist because there is literally not a shred of archaeological confirmation for an exodus or military invasion in the period of Ramesses II.

What’s surprising is how popular this option remains when the text never refers to the person of Ramesses. Exodus 1:11 refers to the city of Ramesses, in the same way that Genesis 47:11 speaks of the land of Ramesses. No biblical scholar believes that Gen 47:11 refers to the actual time of Ramesses, but when it comes to Exodus 1:11 they suddenly do. One is just as much an anachronism as the other. For clarity, the biblical writer of Genesis and Exodus used the current name of the city for the benefit of people living in his time (the seventh century BC). They would have known the location by the name of Ramesses but probably not the older name of Goshen or Avaris. It’s no different from Americans saying that Dutch colonists founded the city of New York, even though they founded it as the city of New Amsterdam (in 1625), which later became New York (in 1664).

Option (b): Thutmose III (1446 BC)

If we forget Ramesses II and take I Kings 6:1 at face value, then the exodus happened in 1446 BC — the favored theory of evangelical scholars. The Pharaoh in 1446 was Thutmose III and he was basically the Napoleon of ancient Egypt, mightier than even Ramesses II (though less of a megalomaniac), who prosecuted countless military campaigns and made Egypt into a true empire under the 18th dynasty. Historians call his reign the strongest epoch in Egypt’s history. That doesn’t sound like an era in which a prophet and his Yahweh-god brought Egypt to its knees. (Though who am I kidding: to an evangelical, the humbling of the mightiest pharaoh would resound to God’s glory all the more.)

Those who like this option tend to manufacture questionable evidence. Consider Thutmose’s campaign to destroy all images of his stepmother Hatshepsut, who had not only reigned as a female pharaoh but as his own co-regent in his youth. Most Egyptologists ascribe his crusade to sexist pride: this Napoleon king would not have wanted to be recorded for posterity as the man who ruled for an entire 20 years under the thumb of a woman. He rewrote Egyptian history to liberate his own, and to portray a smooth succession of male rulers. The evangelical scholars, however, suggest a different reason. They claim that Hatshepsut was Moses’ Egyptian stepmother — the bold young queen who supposedly drew Moses from the Nile (Exod 2:5-10). If that’s true, and she raised Moses as her own son in the royal court (Acts 7:21), then after the Reed Sea calamity, Thutmose would have returned to Egypt on a vicious crusade to erase her foul memory from every corner of Egypt and remove all possibility of her spirit ascending to the afterlife.

It’s a rather silly theory. For one, I doubt there is any historical basis to the legend of the baby Moses rescued from the Nile. No one knew or cared who Moses was when he was a baby. Like the infancy narratives of Jesus, it’s a story ascribing honor to a prophet-nobody who became somebody. Thutmose’s crusade to wipe out Hatshepsut’s images is perfectly understandable for the reason Egyptologists tell us, and is no different from other efforts in Egypt’s history to obliterate memories of objectionable pharaohs (like the heretic Akhenaten, kings with questionable lineage, etc.).

The most relevant piece for this dating option is the battle of Jericho. Evangelicals feel confident dating it to around 1400 BC — in other words, to about 40 years after the exodus (on the 1446 option) as the bible implies. In her archaeological dig in the 1950s, Kathleen Kenyon dated the destruction of Jericho to around the 1550s BC. But in his article, “Did the Israelites Conquer Jericho? A New Look at the Archaeological Evidence” (1990), Bryant Wood re-dated the destruction of Jericho from 1550 to 1400, primarily on the basis of pottery analysis (Kenyon also based part of her analysis on pottery, so go figure). Wood has not gained support for his view outside the wishful-thinking of evangelical circles. All the pottery experts have dismissed his claim, and later analyses in the ’90s confirmed that Jericho was destroyed during the late 1600s or 1500s, basically as Kenyon said. Which takes us to the next option.

Option (c): Dudimose (c. 1650 BC)

Either of the above two options — the skeptical (a) or the evangelical (b) — puts the exodus in the New Kingdom period (1539-1069 BC), for which there is no evidence (Wood’s protest about Jericho notwithstanding). There is however a string of evidence that spans the Middle Kingdom (2060-1649 BC) and Second Intermediate Period (1649-1539) which is widely ignored in scholarship. David Rohl is the lead proponent of this view. Among the evidence he considers, there is:

First, the archaeological record of Semitic/Asiatic populations found at Avaris (the name of the city before it became Ramesses) in the 1800s-1600s. Based on the Ramesses theory, scholars had looked for evidence of the Israelite sojourn in either the 1400s-1200s (assuming a 215-year sojourn), or the 1600s-1200s period (assuming a 430-year sojourn), and never found anything. But everything that archaeologists have unearthed at the earlier site of Avaris indicates the people came from Canaan. They were shepherds and traders who began settling in the delta around the mid-1800s.

Evangelicals who advocate the Thutmose theory can fudge here by accepting this 1800s-1600s evidence and extending it down to the 1400s, on the assumption of a 430-year sojourn. But the dig at Avaris doesn’t show Semitics/Asiatics that late, and the idea of a 430-year sojourn has always been a problematic reading of the bible. The textual evidence for a 215-year sojourn outweighs it. Most sources (Septuagint, Samaritan Pentateuch, Josephus) are unanimous in stating that the 430 years began only with Abraham’s arrival in Canaan, with Jacob’s arrival in Egypt marking the start of a 215-year sojourn. The archaeological record supports this.

By the reign of Sobekhotep III (26th ruler of the 13th dynasty, 1755-1751), the size of the Semitic population had grown. The archaeology shows a huge expansion of Avaris and more than twenty other sites containing Canaanite pottery. Around this time also comes evidence for slavery, with graves of skeletons showing signs of malnutrition and stress, and also an increase in infant graves, from a typical 25 percent rate to 50 percent — and on top of that, an increase in the remains of females who made it into adulthood as compared to male remains. This would align with the biblical account of male infants being put to death. There are also papyrus documents of the time which show that about half the domestic and estate slaves were Semitic, and it was probably even more than half since many of the Asiatic settlers had married native Egyptians and given their children Egyptian names.

Second, the account from a third century BC Egyptian chronicler, Manetho, who describes God (in the singular) “smiting” the Egyptians in the reign of Pharaoh Tutimaos (Greek for Dudimose). God smote the Egyptians in some way, which left them powerless so that foreigners could take over Egypt without bloodshed. The only time that happened was with the Hyksos, who brought the Middle Kingdom to and end and took over Egypt in the Second Intermediate period of 1649-1539. Manetho evidently understands the exodus (in which God wiped out the Egyptian forces at the Reed Sea) to have preceded the Hyksos takeover, which would be in the reign of Dudimose (c. 1653-1649).

Some Egyptologists say there were two pharaohs by this name, Djedhetepre Dudimose and Djedneferre Dudimose (Dudimose I and Dudimose II), while others say it was the same king who changed his prenomen mid-reign. If the former is true, then the exodus pharaoh is Dudimose II. Whichever is true, the evidence from excavations at Avaris indicate that the eastern delta suffered a calamity in Dudimose’s time, and the Asiatics picked up and left. Pits were found with bodies tossed in on top of each other, many face down. They apparently died from plague, and perhaps it was this mystery plague that was turned into God’s act in the tenth plague of Egypt. Which takes us to the next piece of evidence.

Third, the 13th-century Ipuwer Papyrus, containing the incomplete literary work called The Admonitions of Ipuwer which has been difficult to date. At first it was thought to be written around 2181-2060 BC, during the First Intermediate period and the time of civil war. But in 1966 John Van Seters made a strong case for dating it to the end of the Middle Kingdom on the eve of the Hyksos takeover. Of interest are the remarkable similarities between the catastrophes described in the Admonitions and the ten plagues of the bible. The parallels are usually dismissed since a 1600s date of composition precedes the date of the exodus by centuries. But if the exodus didn’t happen in either 1250 or 1446, but around 1650, then it’s right on the nose with Ipuwer. Here are the parallels.

Ipuwer Papyrus Exodus
Plague sweeps the land. Blood is everywhere with no shortage of the dead.

Egypt has fallen to the pouring water. And he who poured water on the ground seizes the mighty in misery.

The river is blood. As you drink of it, you lose your humanity and thirst for water.

There was blood throughout all the land of Egypt. (Exod 2:6)

Yahweh said, “Take some water from the Nile and pour it on the ground. The water you have taken from the river will turn to blood on the dry land.” (Exod 4:9)

All the water in the Nile turned to blood. The fish in the river died and the river stank, so that the Egyptians could not drink from it. (Exod 7:20-21)

Gates, columns and walls are consumed by fire. Lower Egypt weeps.

Gone is the grain of abundance. Food supplies are running short. The nobles hunger and suffer. Upper Egypt has become a wasteland. Grain is lacking on every side. The storehouse is bare. Women say, “Oh that we had something to eat!”

All animals, their hearts weep. Cattle moan and are left to stray, and there is none to gather them together.

Fire ran along the ground. There was hail, and fire mingled with the hail, and the hail smote every herb of the field, and broke every tree of the field. (Exod 9:23-25)

The flax and the barley were ruined. All the livestock of the Egyptians died. The locusts covered the surface of the ground until the land was devastated. And they devoured whatever was growing in the fields and all the fruit of the trees. (Exod 9:31, 9:6, 10:15)

“The hand of the Lord is upon thy cattle which is in the field, and there shall be a very grievous sickness. Gather thy cattle, and all that thou hast in the field.” And he that did not fear the word of the Lord left his servants and cattle in the field. (Exod 9:3,19,21)

What can we do about it? All is ruin.

Those that had shelter are now in the dark of the storm. The whole of the delta cannot be seen.

Pharaoh’s servants said to him, “Let the people go, that they may worship Yahweh their god. Do you not yet understand that Egypt is on the brink of ruin?” (Exod 10:7)

For three days there was thick darkness throughout the land of Egypt. (Exod 10:22)

Children are dashed against the walls. The funeral shroud calls out to you before you come near. He who buries his brother in the ground is everywhere. Wailing is throughout the land mingled with lamentations.

The slave takes what he finds. What belongs to the palace has been stripped. Gold, lapis, lazuli, silver, and turquoise are strung on the necks of female slaves. See how the poor of the land have become rich while the man of property is a pauper.

At midnight the Lord struck down all the first-born in the land of Egypt. And there was a great wailing in Egypt, for there was not a house without its dead. The Egyptians were burying those of their own people whom Yahweh had struck down. (Exod 12:29,30, Num 33:4)

The Israelites did as Moses had told them, and they asked the Egyptians for silver and gold jewellery and for clothing. Yahweh had given the people favor in the sight of the Egyptians that they let them have what they asked. So they plundered the Egyptians. (Exod 12:35-36)

And fourth, the destruction of Jericho, which as we saw was dated by Kenyon and her later supporters between the late 1600s and mid 1500s. If the exodus was c. 1650, then the battle of Jericho would be c. 1610, which fits the time frame. But that’s not all. Kenyon’s findings were rather amazing: (1) Jericho was apparently destroyed by an earthquake, which matches the biblical legend of the walls falling down flat (Joshua 6:20); (2) Jericho was also destroyed by a massive conflagration, leaving ash several layers thick, which supports the account of Israelites burning Jericho to the ground (Joshua 6:24); (3) cave tombs at Jericho show multiple and simultaneous burials, which Kenyon had suggested as some kind of catastrophe or plague being responsible for, and which could be the same plague that the Israelites carried from weeks before (Numbers 25:1-9); (4) abundant supplies of unused grain were found in home storage jars, which supports the biblical testimony that the siege wasn’t long at all, only seven days (Joshua 6:15); (5) there could even be evidence for Rahab’s house — in a poor part of the town Kenyon found the only excavated part of the wall that did not collapse, with houses built into the wall just like Rahab’s (Joshua 2:15). The archaeological pattern of Jericho fits the biblical stories to a tee. But it’s where scholars refuse to look — in Egypt’s 2nd Intermediate Period, not the New Kingdom of the 18th or 19th dynasties.

New Chronology: The Work of David Rohl

But it’s not that simple, because this string of evidence — for the sojourn, exodus, and conquest — creates as many problems as it solves when pushed back to the 1800s-1600s. It would mean that a lot of other biblical events (the Philistines, the period of the judges, David’s reign, the consecration of Solomon’s temple, etc.) need be pushed back too, and there is no justification for such a massive realignment of biblical chronology. On the other hand, there are good reasons to revise Egyptian chronology, and this is what scholars like David Rohl have been doing since the 1990s. In his revision, the Middle Kingdom and 2nd Intermediate Period get reassigned from the 1800s-1600s to the 1600s-1400s, which means that the sojourn, exodus, and conquest — which, per the evidence above, align with those Egyptian periods — don’t end up getting pushed so far back after all.

To list all the reasons for Rohl’s revisionist project would demand multiple blogposts, but for now here’s a significant one: the problem of equating the biblical Shishak (925 BC) with Pharaoh Shoshenk I (the first pharaoh of the 22nd dynasty). The equation was made back in the 1820s by Jean-Francois Champollion, and it has become a thrice-damned unmovable mountain in our chronology of the ancient world. They are very doubtfully the same pharaoh. The biblical Shishak conquered Judah and plundered Jerusalem (I Kings 14:25-26; II Chronicles 12:1-12). Shoshenk did not. In the 1880s, it was found that Champollion was wrong in translating the hieroglyphics in Shoshenk’s campaign relief as “Judah the Kingdom”. It actually reads “Hand of the King”, has nothing to do with Judah, and in fact the campaign relief indicates that Shoshenk avoided Judah on his military campaign in (northern) Israel. Of the fifteen fortresses strengthened by Rehoboam to resist attack from the direction of Egypt, only one (Ajalon) appears on Shoshenk’s campaign list, and it’s the one directly on the route crossing the hill country north of the Judean border. Shoshenk was going to battle the armies of Aram-Damascus, who were plundering northern Israel and encroaching on his sphere of influence — not to attack the people of Judah. But since the 1880s everyone has kept assuming that he was Shishak. Virtually all of our Egyptian chronology, and thus of the ancient world, hangs on this biblical date of 925 BC connected to the probably wrong pharaoh. (As far as the real identity of Shishak, Rohl argues that he was a king of the 19th dynasty, not the 22nd; that’s three centuries off right there.)

In Rohl’s revised chronology, historical events get adjusted by on average 2-3 centuries by a massive re-evaluation of all the data. Here’s a snapshot of his revised timeline of the Middle to New Kingdoms of Egypt, from our conventional (C) dates to his new (N) ones.

Middle Kingdom
12th dynasty: 1938-1802 (C) –> 1803-1632 (N)
13th dynasty: 1802-1649 (C) –> 1632-1439 (N)

2nd Intermediate Period
14th-17th dynasties (Hyksos and rival Thebans): 1649-1539 (C) –> 1439-1202 (N)

New Kingdom
18th dynasty: 1539-1292 (C) –> 1202-962 (N)
19th dynasty: 1292-1190 (C) –> 962-866 (N)

So the pharaoh of the oppression, whom Rohl believes to be Sobekhotep III, reigned c. 1755 in our conventional chronology, and c. 1545 in the revised chronology. Dudimose, the pharaoh of the exodus, reigned 1653-1649, which translates to 1450-1446. This means that the exodus actually did happen in 1446, as the evangelicals claim (I Kings 6:1 is correct after all), but not in the time of the New Kingdom’s 18th dynasty, rather two centuries before, at the end of the Middle Kingdom’s 13th dynasty. The conquest of Canaan moves from c. 1610 to c. 1410, which again makes the evangelicals technically right, but profoundly wrong in how they align biblical events with the rest of the world.


I’m not urging overnight conversions to the new chronology or the acceptance of every new dating period fixed by Rohl (of which there are hundreds). But the project does deserve to be taken seriously. In a documentary called Patterns of Evidence (2014), Israel Finkelstein is interviewed and scorns revisionist efforts, saying that the margin of error for our conventional dating is surely no more than ten years. But that’s not true. All you have to do is pick up a book written by an Egyptian specialist, for example Toby Wilkinson’s Rise and Fall of Ancient Egypt (2010), which in the first pages provides a timeline of all the dynasties from 2950 to 30 BC. The timeline is prefaced by a warning that the margin of error for the dates is “within a century or so” for the period of 2950-1300 BC. In other words, for at least the period we’re concerned with (prior to 1300 BC), this historian acknowledges the margin of error to be at least a century. That’s a revealing admission, and I suspect Wilkinson is low-balling the figure, considering some of the flimsy foundations on which our chronology rests. David Rohl’s shifts of two to three centuries don’t seem so radical in this light.

At the very least, I’m persuaded to abandon the peasant-revolt theory in favor of a traditional conquest. Not in a maximalist way, to be sure. The bible is full of legendary embellishment. But if I’m skeptical of the bible, I’m just as skeptical of hyper-skepticism.