Today’s biblical scholars frequently remark that obviously we can no longer share that era’s belief in demons.24 Superficially that is correct, and yet it is fundamentally false. Of course we would ask today what underlies phenomena of possession from a medical, psychological, and social-psychological point of view, and we will have no hesitation in regarding exorcisms as a prescientific method of (often successful) “psychotherapy.” But that, certainly, is by no means a real explanation of the explosion of the phenomena of possession in particular times and cultural groups, for we must suppose that some kind of deep crisis is revealed in these phenomena—a crisis resulting from guilt, namely, from the self-betrayal, lies, egoisms, recklessness, meanness, and heartlessness of society.
These things not only happen again and again; they settle themselves in the world in the form of a damaged and distorted state of things that no individual can overcome. The New Testament is therefore quite right to speak of the “powers.” In such a connection one must indeed talk about the demons of society—and also, of course, of their victims. For there are particularly sensitive people in whom the chaos and guilt of whole generations, their obsessions and compulsions, concentrate and express themselves physically. Evil in history and society can gather itself to a “potency,” and it very often takes hold precisely of the weakest and objectifies itself in them in the symptoms that are common in the particular society. The illnesses thus produced can be so powerful that the sick persons require help from outside themselves—possibly through a word of power that transposes them into a new situation.
Jesus must have had a profound power to bring such crises to light, to take the form of their expression seriously, and still more, to force them to take objective form and so to heal them. In this he showed himself to be the stronger one, the one who cannot be led astray by the wounds that evil can inflict but through his truthfulness and lack of ambiguity can banish the demons of society. It would be nave to think that we can leave Jesus’ exorcisms behind us as constructs conditioned by time. Rather, they are his confrontations with the power of evil and everything in the world that stands in opposition to God.25 It is true that in the first place Jesus’ exorcisms were conducted “naturally.” The possessed people were sick, and Jesus offered healing. But behind their illnesses lurk the sicknesses of society, and the one who heals them stands in the place of God, who cannot permit God’s good creation to be distorted and destroyed.
All these considerations extend well beyond purely historical questions. They touch a nerve center of theology, but they could not be avoided here because, as I have said, the question whether or not particular miracles (including the so-called nature miracles) took place is not usually determined by historical means but by prior decisions that are located in an entirely different sphere. When Rudolf Bultmann repeatedly dismissed the biblical wonders as “Mirakel,”26 his estimation was not the result of historical insight but, as harsh as this may sound, rested on a bad dogmatics and an unenlightened theology.
Now we must address the theology of Jesus’ miracles. It is essential, because only through it can we clearly see how Jesus’ miracles differ from all the extrabiblical miracles.
The Specific Character of Jesus’ Miracles
Something about this has already been said: namely, that Jesus did not work with magical arts as did the exorcist Eleazar whom Josephus writes about. He did not use amulets, magical roots, or abracadabra. In driving out demons he did not call upon powerful “names.” Even his “commands” to the demons had nothing to do with magic. Jesus rules the demons in the same way that, according to the psalms, God rules the forces opposed to God. Even when he stuck his fingers into the ears of a deaf man or used saliva to heal the blind he was not employing magical practices; he was simply making use of the therapeutic means common in his time. Incidentally, these cases show very clearly that he counted on nature to help him.
We have also touched on another point that is important for the theology of Jesus’ miracles, namely, the faith Jesus requires in each instance. Such demands for faith do not appear in miracle stories outside the Bible. The ancient world did not even have a concept of faith, at any rate not faith as the Bible understands it.
But there is another characteristic that is important for Jesus’ miracles, one we have not yet addressed: his miracles are always for other people, never for himself. Jesus’ miracles are pure acts of concern for people in need. This applies not only to the healing miracles and exorcisms but also to the raising of the dead, the stilling of the storm, and the multiplication of the loaves. Jesus never did anything to help himself.27
It is very revealing that later, in the apocryphal Infancy Gospels and novelistic Acts of apostles people, even Christians, had no hesitation in relating self-help miracles performed by Jesus and the apostles.28 The fact that the canonical gospels are altogether devoid of these shows that they retain something specific to Jesus. In antiquity, and even in Judaism, it was apparently a matter of course that one should expect a great miracle worker to perform miracles on his or her own behalf. According to Mark, the spectators at Jesus’ execution mocked him by saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe” (Mark 15:31-32).
Of course, we must see that this mockery is not only suggesting a miracle in aid of Jesus. It is also, and even primarily, about a demonstration. The idea that the Messiah or the bringer of salvation must prove himself to be such, and by means of a specific miracle that reveals his power and legitimacy, was widely accepted. Josephus reports that before the Jewish war messianic pretenders and pseudo-prophets appeared and aroused the people against the Romans. As legitimation for their actions they promised spectacular miracles:
These works, that were done by the robbers [= Zealots], filled the city [Jerusalem] with all sorts of impiety. And now these impostors and deceivers persuaded the multitude to follow them into the wilderness, and pretended that they would exhibit manifest wonders and signs, that would be performed by the providence of God.
…Moreover, there came out of Egypt about this time to Jerusalem, one that said he was a prophet, and advised the multitude of the common people to go along with him to the Mount of Olives, as it was called, which lay over against the city, and at the distance of five furlongs. He said farther, that he would show them from hence, how, at his command, the walls of Jerusalem would fall down; and he promised that he would procure them an entrance into the city through those walls, when they were fallen down.
29
Apparently these pseudo-prophets found many followers. They promised the people kinds of miraculous events they called “signs of redemption” but all of which had something excessive and bombastic about them. Similar demands for signs were directed at Jesus. According to Mark 8:11-13, this happened one day:
The Pharisees came and began to argue with him, asking him for a sign from heaven, to test him. And he sighed deeply in his spirit and said, “Why does this generation ask for a sign? Truly I tell you, no sign will be given to this generation.” And he left them.
Jesus’ “spirit” was deeply disturbed by this demand for a sign, which was in direct contradiction to his understanding of miracles. Similar demands for signs appear in the Gospel of John (2:18; 6:30-31). Jesus rejects them all severely, even harshly. For him the dimension of faith is part of any miracle. He demanded faith before any miracle could take place, and he presupposed that a deepened faith and repentance would follow the miraculous event. He must have sensed that the signs asked of him simply as legitimation had nothing to do with the longing to be able to believe. There was something Sophistic and seductive about them. Therefore he refused to let himself be legitimated by God (which is what “a sign from heaven” in Mark 8:11 means). He rejected every kind of authenticating miracle and any wonder performed for show. Apparently he regarded such things as idolatrous posing.
So Jesus did not regard the saving deeds he
performed as isolated authenticating miracles. His deeds of power had a different origin and goal. They arose out of the crisis, the need he encountered on all sides, and they are the beginning of the new world God is giving. They are signs of the inbreaking reign of God. They are signs that now the Old Testament prophecies are being fulfilled. Hence Jesus’ mighty deeds stand within a referential context that itself makes them what they are. There is absolutely no comparable framework for the miracles otherwise reported in antiquity.
At this point it is worthwhile taking a closer look at the story of the raising of a dead girl by Apollonius of Tyana. This will make it obvious what I mean by a “referential context.” Apollonius, an itinerant philosopher, lived between 40 and 120 CE. He was regarded in antiquity as a preacher and a miracle worker. He is supposed to have forged amulets that protected against earthquake, wind, water, mosquitoes, and mice. We have scarcely any truly reliable sources regarding his teaching and life. Over a hundred years later Philostratus was encouraged by the Roman empress Julia Domna to write a novelistic description of his life that in many respects reads like an “anti-gospel.”30 As part of this Vita, Philostratus tells the following story:
A girl had died just in the hour of her marriage, and the bridegroom was following her bier lamenting as was natural his marriage left unfulfilled, and the whole of Rome was mourning with him, for the maiden belonged to a consular family. Apollonius then witnessing their grief, said: “Put down the bier, for I will stay the tears that you are shedding for this maiden.”
And withal he asked what was her name. The crowd accordingly thought that he was about to deliver such an oration as is commonly delivered to grace the funeral as to stir up lamentation; but he did nothing of the kind, but merely touching her and whispering in secret some spell over her, at once woke up the maiden from her seeming death; and the girl spoke out loud, and returned to her father’s house, just as Alcestis did when she was brought back to life by Heracles. And the relations of the maiden wanted to present him with the sum of 150,000 sesterces, but he said that he would freely present the money to the young lady by way of dowry.
Now whether he detected some spark of life in her, which those who were nursing her had not noticed—for it is said that although it was raining at the time, a vapor went up from her face—or whether her life was really extinct, and he restored it by the warmth of his touch, is a mysterious problem which neither I myself nor those who were present could decide.
31
It seems almost required of us to compare this story with that of the raising of the young man of Nain:
Soon afterwards he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has looked favorably on his people!” This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country. (Luke 7:11-17)
If we compare the two stories—setting aside all historical questions!—we see that they have much in common. In both the bringer of benefit encounters a funeral procession and causes the bier to halt. The dead person is young in both cases: in the first, a young woman about to be married; in the second, a “young man.” In the one it is the bridegroom who is mourning, in the other a mother who now has no one left to care for her. In the Hellenistic story the city of Rome shares in the bridegroom’s sorrow, and in the biblical tale many people are accompanying the funeral procession out of the city of Nain. Apollonius is depicted as a sympathetic and selfless benefactor: he wants to put an end to the tears being shed for the dead girl, and he gives his honorarium to the girl as her dowry. Jesus is seized by pity for the widow and tells her, “Do not weep.” Apollonius touches the dead girl, Jesus the bier. Apollonius heals by his word, and so does Jesus. But what is especially striking is that the Hellenistic storyteller recalls the raising of Alcestis by the demigod Heracles, while the biblical narrator uses a literary reference to recall the raising of the son of the widow of Zarephath by the prophet Elijah: “He gave him to his mother” (1 Kgs 17:23).
But now for the differences: Apollonius’s miracle-working words are magical. Philostratus does not want to say it too directly, but that is the precise background. Jesus, in contrast, does not utter any words of wizardry but speaks a very brief command: “Rise!” Further, Philostratus insinuates that the girl only appeared to be dead. In doing so he intends to show that he is a critical and objective narrator. Luke, in contrast, leaves no doubt: the man was dead. A further difference in the story as a whole is the role of God. F. C. Conybeare’s English translation of the Apollonius story omits a detail in the original that is still reflected in German versions: namely, that in the third paragraph instead of “it was raining at the time,” the text reads “Zeus caused dew to fall on her.” But why did Zeus do that? To sustain a spark of life in her? Or was the dew only a signal for the wonder worker that the girl was not really dead? Here again Philostratus maintains an ambivalence that is typical of him. There is no such ambiguity in Luke. For him it is clear that God himself was acting through Jesus: “God has looked favorably on his people.”
But the decisive difference is that Philostratus portrays Apollonius as an effective and humane miracle worker. The real character of this humanity is revealed by the horrifying story in which Apollonius has a supposed plague demon stoned.32 That need not, however, concern us here. In any case, Philostratus wants to celebrate Apollonius as a humane wonder worker. It is true that Zeus is permitted to peek through the curtain a bit, but in reality it is all about Apollonius, and the whole event, despite the sorrow of the city of Rome over the young woman, remains a private matter.
It is just the reverse in Luke: here it is all about Israel. A prophet like Elijah has “risen among us” [or: been raised up among us], and “God has looked favorably on [lit.: visited] his people.” Luke is quoting from Zechariah’s canticle:
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty savior for us
in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke through the mouths of his holy prophets from of old.
(Luke 1:68-70)
Thus a whole fabric of relationships is made visible. It is not only that God himself has acted in Jesus to raise up the young man of Nain! Still more, God has acted in Israel, his people. This theological interpretation of the event is breathtaking. It is anything but obvious. What has happened in the little village of Nain, and for one widow, is applied to all Israel. The miracle story opens a vista onto a long history of God’s promises and mighty deeds in Israel. Therefore Jesus’ mercy shown to the widow is not mere human sympathy as with Apollonius, but a reflection of God’s mercy on his people (Luke 1:54, 72). And therefore the witnesses of the miracle are seized with fear that issues in praise of God.
Thus the mighty deed on behalf of the young man of Nain is part of a long history—the history of God’s mighty deeds in his own special people. There is no comparable history in Apollonius, and so his miracle is ultimately “private.” With Jesus nothing is “private.”
The whole is still clearer when we consider, for example, miraculous phenomena known in Hinduism.33 Here the divine is present as “power” in every living thing. Therefore everyone, through religious practice and appropriate application, can acquire superhuman abilities that are regarded as miraculous, becoming a yogi. Then one can supposedly make oneself tiny or enormous, heavy or weightless, present in many places at the same time and having control over everything
—in short, such a person acquires an irresistible will. That too is “private” in an exalted sense.
The contrast to the biblical miracles hits you in the eye. The latter happen in and for Israel and are part of a long history of rescue, of salvation. That is what I mean by the phrases “referential context” and “frame of reference.” Jesus’ miracles cannot be understood outside this referential context. “Reference” is the inmost center of his mighty deeds. His miracles point to the reign of God, now breaking forth: “if it is by the finger of God that I cast out the demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you” (Luke 11:20). But they also point to the new creation of the people of God now coming to pass. They are in service of the gathering of Israel, and in them the world to come is already shining forth, a world in which everything will be made whole by God—not only human beings but all creation. Every miracle of Jesus reveals a bit of the new heaven and the new earth.34
Without this reference there is no such thing as a miracle in the Christian sense. It is therefore no accident that in the theological language of the gospels Jesus’ miracles are not only called “mighty deeds” but also “signs.” Apparently this word intends precisely what I have here called a “referential context.”35 If the gospels, in their description of Jesus’ miracles, had been concerned only with what ruptures the norm they could have spoken of Jesus’ paradoxa erga or his thaumasia. But, apart from Matthew 21:15, they do not do so, for the unusual and marvelous is not what makes Jesus’ miracles. Otherwise, the healings achieved by the emperor Vespasian would also have been real miracles. But they lacked the sign-context we find here. Vespasian’s healings point only to the god-given luck of Vespasian, his fortuna.
In every New Testament miracle the referential context of the inbreaking reign of God and the eschatological new creation of Israel is present. The wonder worker believes in that context, and the recipients of the miracle believe in him. We see this very beautifully in the Gentile woman who begs Jesus to heal her sick daughter:
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