Jesus evokes his wife

When I heard that the US novelist Dan Brown had suggested, in The Da Vinci Code, that Jesus had been married to Mary Magdalene, I was totally uninterested. Besides, I struggled through no more than half-a-dozen pages of that atrocious best-seller before I was utterly bored... by the author's crime-novel style and his make-believe content.

That's definitely not my kettle of fish. On the other hand, I studied eagerly a French book by Marie-France Etchegoin and Frédéric Lenoir whose sole purpose consisted of analyzing and demolishing all the nasty mumbo-jumbo served up in Brown's silly novel.

The only reason I started out by mentioning Dan Brown's novel is to point out emphatically that it has nothing whatsoever to do with the subject of the present blog post.

Today in Rome, the Harvard historian Karen King revealed the existence of a small fragment of papyrus with eight lines of text written in 4th-century Coptic (the language of Egypt).

— photo Evan McGlinn for The New York Times              

This papyrus fragment contains words that are linked in a way that has never occurred before in any ancient text concerning Jesus.

The fourth line reads:

Jesus said to them, "My wife..."

Then the fifth line reads:

she will be able to be my disciple

Already, the words on this piece of papyrus are being referred to as The Gospel of Jesus's Wife. As such, they will be associated with the amazing documents known as the Nag Hammadi library, which I mentioned in my blog posts of April 2007 entitled Sharing life together [display] and Gnostic discoveries [display]. These so-called codices (bound books) were discovered in December 1945, protected by a sealed jar and buried in the sand at the foot of the cliffs of Jabal al-Tarif, alongside the Nile in Upper Egypt.

Cliffs of Jabal al-Tarif in Egypt, near Nag Hammadi.

By chance, this afternoon, shortly before stumbling upon this news of the newly-revealed papyrus, I had been thinking about writing a blog post on one of the most extraordinary documents in the Nag Hammadi library: the Gospel of Thomas. I'll do that later on... Meanwhile, I imagine the huge impact of today's news—the possibility of a female disciple of Jesus—upon the established church of Rome, which has never accepted the idea that a woman might become a priest.

Retweeted by Dawkins

This morning, I was pleased to learn that Richard Dawkins had retweeted (to his almost half-a-million followers) my latest message.

Consequently, if ever Mitt Romney were to become the US president (Heaven forbid!), my chances of obtaining a Green Card have just been annihilated. Happily however, after my death, the Mormons will surely baptize me, and I'll be able to toil in God's Own Country for the rest of Eternity.

Maybe there are non-Mormon readers who won't understand what the hell I was talking about. After all, outside the USA in general, and Utah in particular, not everybody has heard of the angel Moroni who led the prophet Joseph Smith to a hillside where he was able to dig up gold plates containing the words of the Book of Mormon.

It's a delightfully amazing tale. What a pity that you have to be a credulous idiot to believe a single word of it.

There's an anecdote that has amused me ever since I heard it for the first time a couple of decades ago. The Holy City of Jerusalem has always been the home of adepts of every imaginable variety of monotheism. Indeed, if the Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten and Nefertiti were to reappear in the Middle East today, the Israeli authorities would surely authorize them to set up some kind of temple in Jerusalem where they could worship their sun god.

The only notable exception to this spirit of tolerance in recent times concerned the Mormons, who had purchased land on Mount Scopus. After bitter discussions that dragged on for ages, the Israeli authorities only allowed the Mormons to erect their outpost of the Brigham Young University after they had signed a declaration confirming that they would refrain from all missionary activities in Jerusalem. These days, though, Bibi Netanyahu and Mitt Romney are old buddies.

Embarrassment

Several years ago, in the context of my document on maternal genealogy entitled A Little Bit of Irish [access], I tackled briefly (in the final four pages of chapter 2) the idea that my great-great-grandfather Charles Walker [1807-1860] might have been Scottish rather than Irish. In my analysis of the evidence, I made use of a principle employed in historical research concerning the stories of Jesus. At the time of writing about my Braidwood ancestor, I had forgotten where I had heard of this principle, which I evoked in a rather fuzzy manner. Well today, quite by chance, I discovered both the name of the principle and a good description of its origins and use.

Invented by the prolific American historian Will Durant [1885–1981], the principle has an amusing name: the criterion of embarrassment. Faced with a questionable item of alleged historical data, we should ask the question:

"Can we consider this item of data as somewhat embarrassing for the people who were writing the history in question?"

If so, then the item has a good chance of being valid, because historians wouldn't have retained data that was, not only embarrassing, but false. Put differently: Historians are only tempted to falsify the alleged facts that they are describing when the outcome of this falsification is likely to be positive; and embarrassing facts cannot normally produce a positive outcome.

In the case of my Braidwood ancestor, the idea that he might have been a Protestant Scotsman was indeed embarrassing for Walker descendants, since most of them had become members of Irish Catholic communities in Australia. And the situation was particularly embarrassing when we realize that 32-year-old Charles Walker might have lied blatantly about his background with the sole aim of being authorized to marry a girl who infatuated him: the 17-year-old daughter of an Irish convict. Consequently, the speculation that Charles might have been brought up as a Scottish Protestant was so outlandish that this rumor should normally have been squashed forever as soon as it first appeared.

Eliminating the rumor should have been a simple matter. It would have been sufficient to produce documentary evidence of Charles's birth, supposedly in Cork, along with other basic evidence linking him to Ireland. But no such documents have ever been brought to light. Although Charles Walker was employed on an English vessel, the Caroline (the ship that had taken the Henty brothers and their merino sheep to Western Australia), and in spite of his reputation as a respectable and prosperous citizen and a friend of certain distinguished English landowners in the Braidwood region (such as Captain John Coghill and Dr David Reid), we know less about Charles Walker's background in the Old World than for any other of my many Australian ancestors.

Funnily enough, the rest of the speculation, today, is not at all embarrassing for a descendant such as myself. Back in 1980, I was informed that one of Charles Walker's grandsons used to tell an amazing story about his Braidwood grandfather.

The storyteller, John Albert Walker, claimed that his grandfather Charles who had come out to New South Wales on a ship in 1833 was in fact a young brother of Johnnie Walker [1805-1857] of Kilmarnock, the inventor of whisky.

I've tried to research this speculation, but have been incapable of either confirming or disproving the question.

In recent years, the criterion of embarrassment has been used above all in investigations concerning the so-called historical Jesus: that's to say, the real man behind all the evangelical fantasy upon which the future religion of Christianity would be based. Prominent adepts of the criterion of embarrassment are to be found among the 150 or so scholars who belong to an amazing organization known as the Jesus Seminar, founded in 1985 in Oregon. They operate in a most democratic manner, voting by means of colored beads in order to express a consensus view on whether Jesus might or might not have made such and such a statement. Beads are of 4 colors: red, pink, gray and black.

Click here to examine some of their conclusions, many of which would horrify the pope.

Discovery of a cousin

In a blog post of 7 February 2012 [display], I referred rather rudely to certain individuals in our family tree as "ring-ins", which is an Aussie slang term for an offspring born "out of wedlock" (as the old-fashioned expression puts it). At the risk of offending descendants of such individuals, all I really wanted to do was to draw attention to the fact that, in the case of their male descendants, it's obvious that our Y-chromosome data could not possibly match.

In that blog post, I mentioned the case of a member of the family named Atwell Skivington [1850-1941]. Well, I've just been contacted by a 5th-cousin named Chris Lamble, who lives on the outskirts of London. In the following chart, the left-hand line leads down to my grandfather Ernest Skyvington, whereas the names on the right-hand side lead to the grandparents of Chris.

As you can see, Chris is the great-great-grandson of Atwell Skivington from Iwerne Courtney (Dorset). Chris confirms that Atwell was an illegitimate son of Elizabeth Skivington, and he indicates the identity of his father, named Isaac Atwell (who died at the age of 31).

Up until now, the oldest family photo that I had was a portrait of my great-grandfather William Skyvington (taken in about 1894).

Thanks to Chris, we now have this excellent portrait of Atwell Skivington (taken in about 1920), who belonged to the generation of my great-great-grandfather Frank Skivington [1845-1916].

Between my ancestor William and his father's cousin Atwell, I find that there's a certain physical resemblance. But maybe it's simply because of the mustaches.

Young Australians 2012

In France yesterday, a similarly illegal protest march took place in Paris. We learn today that an official inquiry will take place, to identify the ringleaders. An organizer of an illegal happening of this kind can be jailed for six months and fined 7,500 euros. To perform their inquiry, French police have the identities of 152 protesters, and they will be using street video images and messages that appeared on the Internet.

The exceptional resolution of the French ministry of the Interior is reassuring. I have the impression that a similar procedure is to be adopted in Australia. The following excerpt from The Sydney Morning Herald confirms that the disturbances in Sydney are being taken most seriously:

The chain of text messages that led to the riot in Sydney's central business district on Saturday leaving 23 people injured, including six police officers, was being traced by detectives last night. More arrests were expected in addition to those of the six men already charged, after about 400 protesters tried to storm the US consulate in Sydney and became involved in running battles with police around Hyde Park, St James railway station and William Street. [...] The public order and riot squad was on standby last night to quell any further outbreaks of violence, and an investigative team, Strike Force McAlister, was formed to track down ringleaders.

Australian child 2012

Big robotic hounds

In my blog post of 8 September 2012 entitled Robotic runner [display], we saw a legged robot named Cheetah breaking a speed record on a laboratory treadmill.

The same DARPA organization [Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency] proposes the following spectacular video which presents field testing of their Legged Squad Support System (LS3).

I'm frankly terrified by the idea of such big robotic hounds roaming around out in the wilds. We must realize that DARPA isn't designing these metallic creatures as toys. This is pure military research. They say that the big beasts might be used as pack animals, to carry stuff that would normally be borne by human soldiers. But a robot that can transport military gear can also carry a machine gun. They could be trained to operate in a hunt-and-kill style, while being commanded at close range by vocal orders.

We've had glimpses recently of the terrifying efficiency of unmanned drones. Just imagine what a military confrontation might look like if the attacker were to deploy a mixture of airborne drones and legged ground robots. I have the impression that we're hurtling into a crazy science-fiction universe, in which battles will be fought by 5-star game-playing generals located far from the killing grounds, maybe in luxurious bunkers.

Images that stimulate our imagination

People in charge of the excellent Gallica website of the Bibliothèque nationale de France [access] send us constantly all kinds of fascinating images, which I receive through their Twitter messages. Here's a typical specimen, which reached me just a few minutes ago.

The nice thing about such Gallica images is that, in general, they're rarely accompanied by any kind of possibly boring explanations: neither a description of the subject, nor the date and place of the image. So, our imagination is free to wander.

I look upon these Gallica images as a kind of antidote to an excessive consumption of Google. As everybody knows, Google seeks (particularly through Wikipedia) to tell us everything that can possibly be known about anything whatsoever. That's great, of course. I would be totally lost, today, without the miraculous assistance of Google and Wikipedia. But it's good, at times, to know almost nothing about such-and-such a Gallica image. And to be reassured that there's probably no way in the world that you could ever acquire much more factual data concerning the image in question. Consequently, you're obliged to invent your own data...

Maybe there are readers of my Antipodes blog who might be able to tell us what this fellow is doing. And when, where and why...

Personally, I have the impression that this well-dressed guy is an employee of an international company that sells livestock through the Internet. Clearly, he's delivering this beast (Is it a camel or a dromedary?) to one of their customers, maybe in Marseille.

François Skyvington's moped road movie #7

Episode #7 of the road movie was presented on Tuesday afternoon.

In this episode #7, François has moved down to the coastal region of northern Germany known as East Frisia, which lies alongside the northern part of the Netherlands.

On a country road, he was surprised to come upon two teams of men who were playing a curious game that consisted of tossing a big ball as far as possible along the macadam.

The rules of game were not immediately obvious. Players and onlookers were scattered all along the road, and they would start to shout wildly as soon as a ball ran off the macadam and into the grass.

In fact, there's a red team and a blue team, from neighboring villages. Each team (if I understand correctly) has its own ball, and the game—known as bossein—can extend over a length of roadway of 5 to 10 kilometers.

Besides, the players don't seem to be troubled by the presence of vehicles on the road.

The winners are the team that uses the lesser number of tosses to cover the distance. So, in a way, it's a bit like golf. François had a toss or two, towards the end of the wet afternoon, but he wasn't particularly impressive.

After the match, he was invited along to a tasty meal that included large servings of sausages and potatoes, accompanied by beer.

By the time François was ready to leave the bossein context, night had fallen.

Next on the agenda, the following morning, was a visit to an ancient windmill.

It had been restored by Theo, who was now the chief miller.

Inside the windmill, François stepped into a fabulous machine world whose centuries-old wheels and cogs were made out of wood.

Afterwards, the miller and his wife initiated François into one of the old traditions of East Frisia: tea.

The next day, in the port of Emden, François found his way to a distinguished establishment that blends high-quality teas.

The East Frisians seem to be connoisseurs in the tea domain.

The specialist at Emden blends his teas with the same quest for excellence as a Scotsman blending whisky, or a Frenchman producing brandy.

The various alternatives are compared and judged as if the teashop were a laboratory... which it is, in a way.

And the specimens are served and compared in an experimental context.

The next day, François met up with a giant named Tamme who works as a chiropractor with horses.

Tamme uses a high-tech device that enables a lame horse to walk on a treadmill immersed in water.

Viewers were impressed by a sequence in which the giant chiropractor manipulated rapidly the leg of a giant horse in such a way that the bones made a distinct crack.

François was apparently capable of performing a similar manipulation on a lame horse.

Then he was brought in contact with a huge white horse that had some kind of a problem.

I held my breath when I saw François climbing up onto the back of  this beast... but everything went over well.

Even the incongruous presence of Tamme as a pillion passenger on the orange moped seemed to be problem-free.

Finally, François terminated his interesting experiences in East Frisia by an excursion in a marvelous old wooden sailing boat.

The combination of old wood and ropes had the same magic charm as the interior of Theo's ancient windwill.

The orange moped, too, went on this boat trip.

At one point, François (who, I believe, might be described as a relatively experienced sailor) took the helm.

The same North Sea winds that drove the old sailing boat (not to mention Theo's windmill) was generating electricity on the shores of East Frisia.

Back on land, François left East Frisia under a damp steel-gray sky.

As a TV spectator, I had greatly enjoyed the tone of this episode.