The Science of Miracles

by Joe Nickell

  Concerning what you ask me with regard to the death of my father, which occurred a good many years ago, I recall that a few moments before his death my father called the name of one of his old companions—M. Etcheverry—with whom he had not kept up any connexion, even by correspondence, for a long time past, crying out, “Ah! You too,” or some similar phrase. It was only on returning home to Paris that we found the funeral card of this gentleman.

  He added, “Perhaps my father may have mentioned other names as well, but I do not remember.”

  It is hardly surprising that a man's thoughts should, at the close of life, turn to an old friend, or that—having long been out of touch with him—he should have thought him already dead. (The individual reporting the case conceded that there was no certainty the friend had even died before the vision occurred.) Since the most trustworthy account is the least elaborate, lacking even the vision-of-heaven motif, it seems not a corroboration of the nephew's hearsay accounts (Barrett 1926, 22–24) but rather evidence of confabulation at work.

  In their book The Afterlife, Jenny Randles and Peter Hough (1993, 98–99) tell of a dying man who had lapsed into a coma:

  Then the patient became wonderfully alert, as some people do very near the end. He looked to one side, staring into vacant space. As time went by it was clear he could see someone there whom nobody else in the room could see. Suddenly, his face lit up like a beacon. He was staring and smiling at what was clearly a long-lost friend, his eyes so full of love and serenity that it was hard for those around him to not be overcome by tears.

  Sheila [his nurse] says: “There was no mistake. Someone had come for him at the last to show him the way.”

  But how did the nurse know it was “a long-lost friend” and not, say, Jesus or an angel? Indeed, how did she know he saw “someone” at all, rather than something—perhaps an entrancing view of heaven? The way the nurse makes such assertions—emphasized with words like “clearly” and “no mistake”—suggests she is speaking more of faith than of fact, and her belief is accepted and reported uncritically by Randles and Hough. In fact, the tale contains no evidence of a visitation at all.

  Instead, it would appear to represent what is termed a near-death experience (NDE), in which a person typically “comes back” from a state close to death with a story of an otherworldly visit, perhaps involving an out-of-body experience, travel down a dark tunnel, and an encounter with beings of light who help him or her decide whether or not to cross over (figure 41.1).

  Susan Blackmore (1991b) describes the NDE as “an essentially physiological event” prompted by lack of oxygen, the structure of the brain's visual cortex, and other factors. She recognizes that the experiences are hallucinations—albeit, seemingly, exceedingly real. And she points out that one does not actually have to be near death to have such an experience, that “many very similar experiences are recorded of people who have taken certain drugs, were extremely tired, or, occasionally, were just carrying on their ordinary activities.”

  Many of the DBVs reported by Wills-Brandon (2000) and others are similar to NDEs and are probably hallucinations produced by the dying brain. Some of the effects are similar because people share similar brain physiology. For example, the “tunnel” effect “probably lies in the structure of the visual cortex” (Blackmore 1991b, 39–40). Other effects are probably psychological and cultural. Wills-Brandon (2000, 115) concedes: “I agree that when the dying are passing, they are visited by those who will comfort them during their travel to the other side. For a dying Christian, that might mean Jesus; a Buddhist may see Buddha. For others, an angel, a beautiful woman or Druid priest would bring more comfort.” But she rationalizes, “If I'm following a particular philosophy of religion, wouldn't it make sense for me to be visited at the moment of my death by an otherworldly escort who is familiar with my belief system?” Perhaps, but of course the simpler explanation is that people see what their expectations prompt them to see.

  And that is the problem with the anecdotal evidence for “visitations.” The experiencer's will to believe may override any temptation to critically examine the occurrences. Some proponents of after-death contact adopt an end-justifies-the-means attitude. One (quoted in Voell 2001) states: “Whether any of the connections or feelings or appearances are true or not, I've finally figured out it doesn't make a damn bit of difference. If it has any part in healing, who cares?” The answer is that, first of all, people who value truth care. While magical thinking may be comforting in the short term, over time estrangement from rationality can have consequences, both on individuals, who may suffer from a lack of closure, and on societies, which may slide into ignorance and superstition. That potential peril is why Carl Sagan (1996) referred to science as “a candle in the dark.”

  In the New Testament, Jesus is portrayed as a miracle worker. Apart from healings, exorcisms, and resurrections (treated elsewhere), he performs numerous other alleged miracles.

  THE GOSPEL ACCOUNTS

  The major miracles described by Mark's Gospel—the earliest source—include Calming the Sea, two miracles of the Loaves and the Fishes (Feeding the Five Thousand, Feeding the Four Thousand), Walking on Water, and the Cursing of the Fig Tree. Matthew includes all of the above, with minor additions and revisions, and adds the Coin in the Fish. Luke omits Feeding the Four Thousand, Walking on Water, and the Cursing of the Fig Tree; but he adds the Miraculous Draught of Fishes. John's omissions are extensive: he excludes Calming the Sea, Feeding the Four Thousand, Cursing of the Fig Tree, and Sending the Demons into the Swine (that is, he omits the story of the demoniac at Gerasa). He includes Luke's Miraculous Draught of Fishes (but attributes it to the resurrected Jesus!) and adds one miracle: Changing Water to Wine.

  If we argue that a single Gospel account of a miracle is insufficient evidence to persuade us of its reliability (that it had a number of witnesses and enjoyed a tradition of retellings), we should have to exclude Matthew's Coin in the Fish and John's Changing Water into Wine. On the other hand, if we take as our criterion the appearance of a given miracle in all the Gospels, then we throw out every single one except Feeding the Five Thousand!

  PARABLES?

  Let us pause here to consider a hypothesis, that the miracle stories originated as parables. A parable is a simple story intended to teach a lesson or to illustrate some moral principle.

  Parables are useful in giving concrete embodiment to abstract ideas. They are also—just as poems often are—full of meaning, containing many meanings. By forcing the listener to search out the “true” meaning, parables thus involve the listener in a productive quest rather than simply delivering pronouncements. Jesus makes this clear with the Parable of the Sower: Seeds may fall on rocky ground or among weeds or in good soil, and will meet appropriate fates; so do words—he explains—when they are “sown” among different listeners. He tells his disciples (Mark 4:11–12): “Unto you is given to know the mystery of the Kingdom of God: but unto them that are without, all these things are done in parables.” (Why so? The answer is somewhat cryptic: “That seeing they may see, and not perceive; and hearing they may hear, and not understand; lest at any time they should be converted, and their sins should be forgiven them.” The idea here is that his teachings were foreordained to failure, just as it was part of the divine plan that he should be betrayed and crucified. The view, of course, is an editorial contrivance by Mark.)

  We may gain new understanding of Jesus’ supposed miracles by looking at them as parables. In fact, when the Pharisees test Jesus by asking for a sign, his response is revealing: “And he sighed deeply in his spirit, and saith, ‘Why does this generation seek after a sign? Verily, I say unto you, no sign shall be given unto this generation’” (Mark 8:12). To see that parables are indeed behind the various alleged miracle stories, let us look at each in turn.

  CHANGING WATER TO WINE

  John calls this Jesus’ “beginning of miracles,” but it is related only in his Gospel (2:1–11). It occurred at a marriage i
n Cana of Galilee, where Jesus was a guest with his mother and disciples. As John relates, when the wine ran out, Jesus’ mother called the problem to his attention. Observing six stone water pots, used for the Jewish rites of purification, Jesus had them filled with water, whereupon it was transformed into fine wine. As the steward of the wedding feast says to the bridegroom (John 2:10), “Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse: but thou hast kept the good wine until now” (figure 42.1).

  In other words, the “water” of Judaism has been transformed into the new and good wine of Christianity (Dummelow 1951, 777). The synoptics do not relate this miracle, but they do contain the Parable of the New Wine (Matthew 9:17; Mark 2:22; Luke 5:37–38). In the parable Jesus says that John the Baptist's “wine” was old, suited to old bottles; but his wine was new and required new bottles, else the fermentation cause the old bottles to burst (Dummelow 1951, 658). John has simply followed the common tradition of comparing a jar of wine with holy teaching, and has presented a parable as a miracle.

  CALMING THE SEA

  Mark (4:35–41) and Matthew (8:23–27) present this as Jesus’ first nature miracle and Luke (8:22–25) presents it as his second (following the Miraculous Draught of Fishes). In each, the story is essentially the same: Jesus and his disciples get into a boat and begin to cross the lake (known in different times as Lake Gennesaret, Lake Tiberias, Sea of Galilee). It is evening and Jesus is asleep in the stern. Suddenly a great storm develops; the sea begins to spill into the boat; the disciples grow alarmed. But Jesus sleeps on until they wake him, crying, “Master, carest thou not that we perish? Mark continues (4:39): “And he arose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, ‘Peace, be still!’ And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.” Jesus rebuked and drove out the demons of the storm just as he had the evil spirits that possessed people (Craveri 1970, 110), just as magicians and shamans have commanded the elements from the most ancient times. And the disciples were filled with wonder.

  We need only look at the physical characteristics of the Sea of Galilee to find a rational explanation for the miracle. According to Connick (1974, 276–77):

  The Sea is hemmed in on the east and west by mountains. The summer's sun beats down on the basin with unmitigated fury. Without warning cold air currents from the west frequently pounce on the superheated depression and provoke sudden storms. Just as suddenly the storms may subside.

  But scholars are quick to question whether seasoned fishermen—as some of the disciples supposedly were—would be so amazed at such a common experience.

  Enslin (1968, 156–57) and others (Connick 1974, 276–77; Craveri 1970, 109–10) instead point to a literary source for the account, one that suggests the “miracle” is derivative—in this case from Psalms 107 (23–31). However, the psalm does not describe a single miracle. Rather, it speaks of those times in which “they that go down to the sea in ships…see the works of the Lord…. For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind.” When they are thrown about, “they reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then, they cry unto the Lord in their trouble and…He maketh the storm a calm.”

  There is a point to the story in Psalms: “Then they are glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven. Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!” (Psalms 107:30–31) In Mark's account of Calming the Sea, Jesus reflects that sentiment with the question, “Why are ye so fearful? How is it that ye have no faith?” (Mark 5:40) Most significantly, immediately preceding the miracle in Mark is this statement (following Jesus’ Parable of the Sower): “And with many such parables spake he the word unto them, as they were able to hear it. But without a parable spake he not unto them: and when they were alone, he expounded all things to his disciples” (Mark 4:33–34).

  THE CURSING OF THE FIG TREE

  As told in Mark's Gospel (11:12–26), after Jesus and his disciples came from Bethany, Jesus was hungry. “And seeing a fig tree afar off having leaves, he came, if haply he might find any thing thereon: and when he came to it, he found nothing but leaves; for the time of figs was not yet.” In response, Jesus commanded that “no man eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever.” When they left Jerusalem in the morning, “they saw the fig tree dried up from the roots.” Now, if it was not the time for figs, should not Jesus have known it? Anyway, why not just command some suitable fruit—figs, or even oranges—to appear, rather than destroy an innocent, harmless tree that could feed others? Matthew (writing later) omits the embarrassing fact and claims the tree promptly withered (Matthew 21:18–22).

  That this purported miracle actually derived from a parable is suggested by Luke's Gospel (13:6–7), which says of Jesus: “He spake also this parable; A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came and sought fruit thereupon, and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, ‘Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none: cut it down.’” In the parable the vine dresser begs for a stay of execution for the tree—that he may have one more year to dig around it and fertilize it with manure in hopes of saving the poor tree. How much more characteristic of Jesus is Luke's parable than is Mark and Matthew's miracle! This parable may explain why the miracle tale is “missing” from Luke, furthering the hypothesis that the miracles originally began as parables.

  THE MIRACULOUS DRAUGHT OF FISHES

  Luke (5:1–11) presents this as Jesus’ first nature miracle. It is told on the occasion of his meeting Simon (Peter) and his partners James and John. Although the fishermen had toiled throughout the night but caught nothing, Jesus encouraged them to try again. He was in the boat with them already, since he found it a convenient platform from which to teach the people who were pressing close upon him. When he finished speaking, he had Simon put out into deep water and let down his nets. Lo! The catch was so great that, their nets breaking, Simon's partners had to rush to his aid with another boat.

  In the account by John (21:1–14), the miracle is performed by Jesus after he has risen from the dead. Moreover, as biblical scholars well know, the entire twenty-first chapter of John is a later addition (Dummelow 1951, 810). While Matthew and Mark do not relate the miraculous catch, they do tell of Jesus’ meeting the three fishermen and saying, “Follow me and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19; Mark 1:17). In fact, Jesus says the same thing in Luke (5:10): “And Jesus said unto Simon, ‘Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men.’” So again, it appears that a miracle tale has been created from a story that was originally a parable.

  THE COIN IN THE FISH

  This miracle is related only in Matthew (17:24–27), who tells of Jesus and three followers who went to Capernaum. There the tax collectors asked Peter, “Doth not your master pay tribute?” So as not to offend, Jesus directs Peter, “go thou to the sea, and cast an hook, and take up the fish that first cometh up; and when thou hast opened his mouth, thou shalt find a piece of money: that take, and give unto them for me and thee.”

  Critics suggest that the money may have been simply the proceeds of Peter's sale of the fish (Dummelow 1951, 685), but I think we may much more profitably look for a parable as the true source of the miracle. We do not have to look far, for just such a parable—the story of Caesar's coin—is common to Matthew, Mark, and Luke. In this story the Pharisees came to Jesus seeking “to entrap him in his talk.” Full of sarcasm, they said (Mark 12:14): “Master, we know that thou art true, and carest for no man: for thou regardest not the person of men, but teaches the way of God in truth: Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar, or not?” Such a deceitful trap! If Jesus said yes, he would provoke the Jewish nationals to cries of betrayal; if he replied no, he would commit treason against Rome. Taxation was a passionate issue throughout Judea, but the Pharisees weren't trying to resolve the question. They were simply trying to trick Jesus. However, he was ready for them. He order
ed them to bring him a coin, and when one was fetched he asked a simple question, “Whose is this image and superscription?” When they replied, “Caesar's,” Jesus said (Mark 12:17): “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's.” What a perfect way out of the trap!

  Matthew, however, does not replace the parable with the miracle. He includes both. (Just as he doubles other elements: there are two blind men where Mark relates one, two demoniacs at Gerasa.)

  FEEDING THE FIVE THOUSAND

  This is the only miracle found in all four Gospels (Mark 6:34–44; Matthew 14:14–21; Luke 9:11–17; John 6:2–14). With minor variations, the story is the same. A great throng has gathered around Jesus in an isolated place and has listened to him teach. It is now late, and they are hungry. When Jesus tells his disciples to feed the people, they complain, “Two hundred pennyworth [denarii] of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one of them may take a little” (John 6:7). Jesus notes that they have five loaves and two fish, and he has the people sit down by groups upon the grass. He looks up to heaven, blesses and breaks the bread, and gives it to his disciples to distribute. As well, “he divided the two fish among them all.” Mark (6:42–43) continues: “And they did all eat, and were filled. And they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments, and of the fishes” (figure 42.2).

  Enslin (1968, 155) says of the tale: