Tag Archives: Simcha Jacobovici

Jacobovici on the Ipuwer Papyrus

Simcha Jacobovici recently published a blog post insisting in no uncertain terms that the Ipuwer Papyrus is “proof” of the Exodus. For Jacobivici,

the Ipuwer Papyrus is basically the story of the Biblical Exodus, from an Egyptian point of view.

Now, on what is this conclusion based? Simcha provides only a few pieces of evidentiary support, among them the text’s putative uniqueness and a handful of narrative parallels:

1) The text states “the tribes of the desert have risen above the Egyptians,” which, in Simcha’s mind, can only refer to Israel.

2) The text states “the servant takes what he finds”;  “poor men have become wealthy”; a man who could not afford to have “sandals for himself is now a possessor of riches.” These comments about the poor breaching class boundaries are taken as a “direct parallel” to Exod 12:35, which states that the Israelites borrowed gold, silver, and clothing from the Egyptians. According to Simcha, the Israelites “bankrupted” the Egyptians.

3) The text mentions earthquakes and the Nile turning to blood.

4) The text describes the exodus event itself, stating that “those who were Egyptians [have become] foreigners.” Simcha takes this to refer to the Israelites’ departure from Egypt.

The problems with this conclusion and the methods undergirding it are legion, but I start with a betrayal on Simcha’s part of his complete and utter ignorance of any methodological standards of literary evaluation:

Scholars have dismissed the Papyrus as a work of fiction and describe it as part of a “genre”. A “genre” is a French word for a series, class or category of stories that share common themes. If you’re unique, you’re not a “genre”. The fact is that there is no papyrus like the Ipuwer Papyrus.

Evidently Simcha thinks the Ipuwer Papyrus is not “part of a ‘genre.'” He obviously does not know what a “genre” is, or how the term is used in scholarship. His definition is also lacking, as it seems to indicate that texts of a similar genre have to share the same or similar subject matter, which they do not. What they must share are sets of stylistic features, which are never entirely unique. Every text is a part of some genre or another. If a text were not part of a genre, it would not be adequately understood. As an example, imagine I handed you a small piece of paper with the following written on it:

1 lb. monkey brains
a dozen eggs
1 gallon breast milk
cyanide (2 capsules)
football helmet full of cottage cheese (low fat)

Now, obviously, you’ve never seen a text exactly like this before. It’s a unique text.  And yet, you can probably tell pretty quickly what I might want you to do with it. It’s a shopping list. The underlying implication is that this is a list of things I want you to go buy, for whatever bizarre reason. How do you know? Because “shopping list” is a genre, and  you know the genre and its associated stylistic features. It is not the content of the list that screams “shopping list,” it is those conventional features (small piece of paper, items listed in specific quantities, etc.). Because you know the genre, you can interpret the meaning of the list. All texts belong to some genre or another. This is axiomatic. To insist that a text is not part of a genre is to betray complete and utter ignorance of the concept.

So is the Ipuwer Papyrus “part of a ‘genre'”? Obviously. It not only contains similar stylistic features to other texts, but also subject matter. First, it is a poem. It makes frequent use of conventional poetic elements, like parallelism and metonymy. That’s a genre, albeit a broad one. Next, it is a lament, which is a known genre of Egyptian literature (despite Simcha’s assumption that the pessimism is “remarkable” and uncommon). Laments for the dead, for instance, are full of pessimism and tragedy. Sumerian city laments are also strikingly similar in style as well as content. The Lament for Sumer and Urim, for instance, contains pleonastic lists of devastating circumstances following a deity’s actions against a region, just like the Ipuwer Papyrus. Most importantly for Simcha’s claims, the notion of the river turning to blood is actually not that unique. It occurs in Egyptian and other texts spread across a pretty broad period of time, and it is a metaphorical description of the reddening of the Nile when particularly heavy inundation washes a great deal of red sediment down from Upper Egypt. This process also kills off a lot of fish, making the river stink and the water bad.

So the Ipuwer Papyrus is certainly part of a “genre” and is not as remarkable or unique as Simcha seems to think. This lack of uniqueness also extends to the items he lists as direct parallels to the Exodus tradition. To begin, the notion of “tribes of the desert” coming against Egypt does not necessarily refer to Israel. The Egyptians frequently interacted with various nomadic peoples, both hostile and benign. The Hyksos (“rulers of foreign lands”) were a large tribal group ubiquitous in the historical record from the third to the second millennia BCE. They were thought by Middle Kingdom writers (2000 – 1700 BCE) to originate from Syria and Canaan, and they actually took over Egypt (during the Second Intermediate period). There’s no indication they were Israelites, though, and the dates of their accession don’t fit the biblical text at all. Obviously this makes for a far better context than the Exodus for “desert tribes” having “become Egyptians everywhere,” particularly in light of the statement by the author of the Ipuwer Papyrus that foreigners are attacking Egypt (this does not fit with the exodus tradition).

Next, the notion of the poor violating class boundaries is not unique. The intermediate periods in the history of Egypt were periods of political and social upheaval, not uncommonly attended by uprisings among non-royals and poorer classes. This was viewed as particularly horrifying to traditionalists among the Egyptian intelligentsia, and fits quite well with the lament of Ipuwer. The notion of Egyptians becoming foreigners also fits with the First or Second Intermediate period, when the country was taken over by outsiders, leaving the traditional Egyptians on the political fringes, making them “foreigners.” Jacobovici’s interpretation of these Egyptians cum foreigners as the departing Israelites is nonsensical, as the author of this text would never have considered Asiatic slaves Egyptians to begin with, and the designation “foreigner” does not refer to someone who departs Egypt. It refers to native Egyptians who have been displaced by incoming rulers.

To conclude, the Ipuwer Papyrus only provides support for the exodus tradition if one is woefully ignorant of broader Egyptian literature and history, and is only looking for points of contact (while ignoring points of conflict). The document most likely originates centuries before the traditional dating of the exodus (which itself doesn’t fit at all with the actual history of Egypt), and it conflicts with the exodus tradition as contained in the Bible more than it overlaps. Those areas of overlap are also not unique or striking. They are rather conventional literary elements that coincide with different periods and events from Egypt’s ideological past.

Mr. Jacobovici wants a debate, but there’s really nothing to debate. There is no evidence that the Ipuwer Papyrus has anything at all to do with a historical exodus. Jacobovici’s analysis is staggeringly uninformed and myopic, and there is nothing left for him to marshal in support of his reading. All he could possibly offer is restatement and argument by assertion, apart from the inevitable ad hominem and hypocritical decrying of my academic condescension. I would be happy to have him prove me wrong.


Jacobovici’s Rhetoric

In response to Simcha Jacobovici’s video interview with Émile Puech, and Professor Puech’s own comments regarding the interview, Mark Goodacre published a post on his blog (A Tale of Two Replicas) in which he exposes some significant differences between the two replicas of the ossuary that Jacobovici has shown to the public and to other scholars. One of his main points is that the replica showed to Puech was crafted with the intention of showcasing the supposed YWNH inscription. The markings thought to form the inscription were amended toward a more easily identified form, and the superfluous markings were simply omitted. This stands in contrast to the situation with the first replica, which appears to have been produced without knowledge of any proposed reading of the marks at the bottom of the object. In short, Professor Puech read YWNH on the replica because that’s what the artist who produced it wrote on it (the form of the characters appears to be based on the outline provided here). More on the inscription in an upcoming post. (Edit: see now Steve Caruso’s illustration of the differences between the two versions of the inscription.)

Mr. Jacobovici has responded broadly to these and other critiques in a post of his own entitled Pants on Fire. In this highly rhetorical post, Jacobovici frames his criticisms of Drs. Cargill and Goodacre and those associated with them with the assertion that he (Jacobovici) knows he is getting closer to proving his case because the criticisms leveled against him are becoming “dirtier,” and “more personal and hysterical.” He then labels his critics “detractors” and “naysayers” who are “masquerading as scholars” and engaging in “pseudo-scientific analysis of photographs of the replicas,” as well as “pseudo-scholarship . . . to rewrite history in Orwellian fashion.”

What is abundantly clear in this rhetoric is that Jacobovici is working to paint a conceptual picture of himself as the rogue intellectual idealist (“I’ll continue to report honestly in an effort to find the truth”)—untainted by both the trappings of the academy and conservative Christian ideology—who is being bombarded by clumsily veiled personal attacks from a monolithic establishment bent on maintaining the status quo and quelling any voices that may dare to dissent. He has previously characterized colleagues of mine (and will he do the same for me?) as “underwear bloggers”—juvenile slobs who sit around in their underwear “spending their days and nights attacking me and others personally” (complete with editorial cartoon). Notice he never links the reader to the actual content posted by his “detractors.” This is not considered fair play by those who want the readers to be able to assess the evidence themselves.

The goal of this rhetoric is not to directly engage any actual concerns or arguments, but simply to garner third-party support by playing upon suspicions about ivory tower theologians who are fiercely protective of their orthodoxy and who denigrate and marginalize the contributions of non-academics (particularly those who challenge Christian orthodoxy). Those without the training necessary to assess the accuracy of the academic claims in and of themselves (but who have a stake in the argument) are usually left to pick a side based on ideology and rhetoric. Mr. Jacobovici is trying to make that decision as easy as possible by appealing to a Dan Brown-esque conceptualization of himself as the Robert Langdon to our Opus Dei. We are “enforcers of Pauline theology.” He is the champion of the people’s Jesus.

My biggest concern here is that Jacobovici is either unaware of, or flatly rejects, the notion that an academic might have a position informed by anything other than religious belief, and this is deeply troubling. My religious affiliation is no secret, but anyone will be hard pressed to find an example of that affiliation governing academic positions of mine posted here or anywhere else, and I hardly defend “Pauline theology.” Dr. Goodacre, as a matter of principle, leaves personal beliefs out of his academics. Mr. Jacobovici is the farthest off the mark with the critic he engages most frequently and most vehemently, Robert Cargill. Dr. Cargill has publicly declared his agnosticism and believes Paul made the “dumbest, most problematic arguments in the Bible.” So who are these “enforcers of Pauline theology”? Aside from Professor Puech, whom Jacobovici has shown is willing to rest his academic opinion on faith claims, I see none.

Mr. Jacobovici is fabricating an ideological opponent and juxtaposing characterizations of our work to rhetorical jabs at that strawman in order to associate us with it and thus appeal to a growing and popular ideological community that is interested in a specific anti-establishment and humanistic Jesus. I have no problem whatsoever with such an interest or community, but I do take issue with manipulative and deceptive attempts to marshal support from that community in an effort to marginalize and shout down the criticisms of legitimate academics with legitimate methodological and evidentiary concerns. That is not the way to go about this.

Tabor, Jacobovici, and THE Cannes Film Festival

James Tabor recently published a post on his TaborBlog entitled, “‘Jesus Discovery’ Film Wins at Cannes Film Festival.” Now, “Cannes Film Festival” is the common and popular title of the Cannes International Film Festival (French Festival de Cannes or the larger La Festival International du Film de Cannes), which dates back to the 1930s and is one of the most prestigious and popular film festivals in the world.

The film produced by Tabor and Jacobovici did not win an award at THE Cannes Film Festival. It won an award from the Cannes Corporate Media & TV Awards, which is an unrelated awards program that extends beyond film to corporate media and TV, and nowhere bills itself as a “festival” at all. The closest it comes is the word “gala,” which is how it describes the actual awards ceremony. The ceremony awards multiple trophies in each category to film makers who nominate themselves at a modest €250. Their motto is “Establishing the world’s standard for corporate films since 2010.” This year there are a total of 120 awards chosen from 719 submissions. No word on how many submissions there were for the “Science & Knowledge” category, but there was only one trophy awarded in the category last year. 

It should be needless to say, but the title of Tabor’s blog post is entirely deceptive. Whether that deception was calculated or the product of naivety and lack of forethought is not clear (the latter may be possible in light of the author’s misspelling of Émile Puech’s name, by the way). As the jury responsible for this award cannot possibly be qualified to speak in any informed way about the scholarship represented in the film, and the quality of the filmmaking may not even have played a role, the award may be little more than an acknowledgement of participation (and receipt of payment).

[illustration coming]