“James, son of Joseph, brother of Jesus.” Those words,
translated from Aramaic, lit a fire under the archaeological
community, when Biblical
Archaeology Review announced last year that it had found a
limestone burial box in a private collection from the first century
AD with just such an inscription.
Because it was exceedingly uncommon to carve a brother’s name
into a burial box, and because some fancy mathematical analysis
showed that while James, Joseph, and Jesus were fairly common names
in the first century, the lottery-like lineup of a James who was a
son of Joseph and brother of Jesus was a rare occasion, many
concluded that this was the final resting place of the brother of
the Jesus.
In the
follow-up book, BAR publisher Hershel Shanks wrote
that the case for this belief was “not so clear that it would stand
up in court in a criminal case; we have not proved it beyond a
reasonable doubt. But I do think it would be enough to sustain an
award in a civil suit, where the standard of proof is a
preponderance of the evidence.” That is, the likelihood — and
history and science are all about likelihood — was that this was
the genuine article. If so, it would be the first archaeological
evidence of the man who Christians believe was the son of God.
That’s a huge claim, with all kinds of discomforting
ramifications, so it surprised no one that the ossuary inscription
drew arched eyebrows from the beginning. Robert Eisenman, an
eccentric scholar who had authored a
book on “James the Just,” questioned the authenticity of the
find on the grounds that it was too perfect. The fact that it was
found in the hands of a private collector rather then discovered as
part of an archaeological dig fueled speculation that this was an
elaborate hoax.
Speculation turned into
accusation last Wednesday, as the Israel Antiquities Authority
(IAA) announced, but did not release, the “unanimous conclusion” of
a report by a committee of 15 scholars: The ossuary was from the
first century, but the inscription was a very well done fake. The
forgery angle quickly metastasized into a fact in the popular press
(and was broadcast by not a few religion bloggers), but has
turned into something rather different among scholars of
antiquity.
Shanks, who has always been a lightning rod figure in the field
of archaeology, responded by questioning both the motives and the
methodology of the IAA. In a rebuttal posted
on the BAR website, he charged that the not-yet-released
findings of the committee were really the findings of one man, Tel
Aviv University’s Yuval Goren, and that Goren had gone into his
investigation with a strong bias against the inscription’s
authenticity. Further, Shanks charged that the director of the IAA,
one Shuka Dorfman, had a motive to help push this conclusion on the
rest of the committee. That is, Dorfman hates the antiquities
market and has a personal grudge with Shanks, for speaking up for
the hated collectors of ancient artifacts.
And so it went
(and did it
ever). Goren charged Shanks with misleading readers and
misrepresenting the data. Shanks said Goren had not proved his case
and called the committee a bunch of media whores. Of the actual
investigation, he charged the IAA with “bungl[ing] it from start to
finish.” It reminded me again why archaeology is my very favorite
contact sport.
The sticking point is over the patina, the gunk that covered the
ossuary’s surface which can be used to date an object.
Specifically, the patina inside the grooves of the letters does not
always match the patina on the surface of the box. However, the
owner’s mother appears to have … done what mothers do when
confronted with gunk and cleaned the inscription.
One person closely watching the blow-by-blow in all this was
Acadia Divinity College’s professor
Craig A. Evans (full disclosure: I took classes under him
before he left Trinity Western University), who has his own book on
ossuary inscriptions due out in the fall. Though he initially
expressed relief that had taken a neutral position with regard to
the inscription’s authenticity, and thought that Shanks had “tons
of egg” on his face, Evans quickly changed his mind as the story
developed. As things stand now, of those who have closely examined
the patina:
“We have four geologists…who think it is genuine, and
one…who thinks it isn’t… Shanks still thinks the
inscription is genuine; he is calling for further testing…
Rochelle Altman and others who all along claimed the ossuary was a
fake do not want further testing. Interesting, eh?”
Oh yeah. Now that the issue of the ossuary’s antiquity, as well
as the inscription’s pitch perfect match with the grammar and
script style of the first century, has been settled, we’re left
arguing about grime and cursing a mother’s cleanliness. Those
taking bets on the next round might want to avoid a bath by
favoring Hershel Shanks.
