One of the more provocative problems of interpretation that raises fundamental issues in hermeneutics is that of translation: from one ``language'' to another (in the several meanings of ``language''), from one culture to another, from one time to another, and the like. The notorious failures stemming from ``literal'' translations in the field of language-transfers should warn us of the similar failures which are likely to occur in other areas. But in the area of translation from one time to another, especially from ancient times to modern, and from ancient cultures to modern, the failures are not so readily noticed, since there are no ancient-culture people available to sense the discrepancies which commonly signal a hermeneutical problem. All the more caution, therefore, should be exercised by scholars working in fields of ancient culture, that they do not too readily make the transfer to modern culture, or allow their audiences to make such a transfer, to the detriment of understanding of the ancient culture.
One such instance of transfer that is too readily made, in which a ``false cognate'' is accepted as translation, is the miracle story. The miracle stories of the Hellenistic period and cultures, and of the New Testament in particular, are supposed to be cognate with the stories of healings reported in our time by revivalist preachers, healers, and prayer-groups, or sometimes with the ``miracles'' of modern science, especially medicine (as with ``miracle drugs'' and heart transplants). It is the contention of this essay that such a translation is erroneous, and that we actually have a much more readily available analogy to the miracle story of Hellenistic culture -- one which fits into our time with the same ease that the miracle story fit into its time.
But it is not to be found in the officially ``religious'' sphere, and perhaps for that reason we do not recognize it as being in many ways the same old miracle story that was so rampant in the battles between religions in the ancient world. Indeed, it is possible that the ``religious'' sphere today offers few real parallels to the on-the-surface similar sphere in ancient culture, inasmuch as religion today has little real role in the ongoing stream of our culture. That larger question must be dealt with elsewhere; but here we can examine one instance of translation which may shed light on it, the instance [117/118] of miracle stories. And to grasp the problem adequately, we must turn to the miracle story in its own time and culture. (Note that we are not discussing the problem of ``miracle'' as such, but rather that of ``miracle story.'' The two are not necessarily related closely.)
The miracle in ancient culture was not, as the eighteenth-century philosophers and theologians supposed, the contravention of ``natural law,'' the happening of the impossible. Rather, it was what was wonder-full, miraculum, mirabile, that which led one to wonder, to look, to marvel. The importance of such happenings was that they were more than curious, they had also an aitia, a ``reason,'' an ``explanation.''
There is a widespread tendency to misread the meaning of this notion of aitia, partly because of its translation into English (from Aristotle) as ``cause'' (taken directly from the Latin translation of Aristotle, and partly because of its modern limitation to what Aristotle called efficient ``cause.'' The notion of aitia was the answer to the question ``Why?'' (Ti?); and Aristotle (with other ancients) perceived that we asked this question in more than one sense (he described four senses). In our modern usage, there are at least two senses in which we ask (or expect an answer to) ``Why?'' -- the senses Aristotle called ``efficient'' and ``final.'' In the natural sciences, the ``efficient'' cause is the only one commonly noted, or used in explanation. But in daily life, and in ordinary language, and also in some of the ``sciences'' such as psychology, sociology, and anthropology, as well as in psychotherapy, another sense is found, the so-called ``final'' cause. ``Why'' did he murder? The answer is not simply in terms of efficient causation, but also in terms of his aims, his intentions, his purposes -- in other words, his ``reasons'' are both ``causal'' (viz., efficient) and ``intentional'' or ``purposive'' (viz., final).
Hence it is important for us to bear in mind that the meaning of a miracle (i.e., as told -- the ``miracle story'') is not simply its explanation in terms of ``cause,'' but is also -- and even more importantly -- its explanation in terms of ``purpose,'' or ``meaning for us.'' this is no less true today than in the ancient world, as we shall see later.
If what is crucial, or at least part of what is crucial, for an understanding of the miracle story is that it had its significance in terms of its aitia, its ``reason'' in the ``final'' sense, then the question, ``What does this miracle mean?'' will be another form of the question ``Which God is here doing what?'' For the category of ``gods'' was the category of ``purpose'' or ``meaning'' or ``value'' or ``worth'' in human affairs, in an ultimate sense, or at least a penultimate one. [118/119] That is, that for the sake of which one did what one did, ultimately, was one's god; that which was determinative of value or worth in human affairs ultimately was one's god.[1] It is important to make the obvious point, since it is easy to miss the analogue in the modern miracle story otherwise; the category of ``gods'' is generally missing from the recent variety, at least overtly.
To tell of a man stricken down by a bolt of lightning was to invite an explanation in two senses: The lightning and thunder are given a ``cause'' -- not the same one as when electrical charges are invoked, but a ``cause'' nonetheless -- in the Aristotelian ``efficient'' sense; and should this ``cause'' be Zeus the thunderer, one might also explain the event in terms of the dire consequences of pride and arrogance -- he is smitten down to punish him, and to warn others against following such hubris in the future.
``Which God is here doing what?'' Is Zeus striking down an arrogant man with his thunderbolt? Is Satan now being bound and plundered by Yahweh through his Servant? Are wind and sea being governed and brought into submission once more by their Master of old, as in the Creation (Gen. 1) and in the Exodus (Exod. 14:15)? Alternative explanations are possible as well! Which one is to be followed is revealed by the telling of the story, and by its context.
On the basis of this view of miracle stories, we may say that the miracle story vindicated, or evidenced, or displayed, some god's claims to do something. Along with such a vindication, it might also carry with it the evidence or vindication of Mr. A to be an authentic agent of God X. In other words, it might show or display or evidence the claims to have exousia on the part of the performer of the miracle. Some miracles happened ``by themselves,'' so to speak, i.e., without an agent or miracle-worker present; but most were done ``through'' someone, or at the instance of one who claimed to be the proper agent of the suitable powers.
Let us now sum up our case so far, and extend it one step further, by saying that in the Hellenistic world the miracle story functioned in the following ways:
(1) In the occurrence of this miracle, God X is active, in bringing about such a wondrous thing.
(2) In performing this miracle, Mr. A is possessed of God X's exousia, and thus has special claims on the hearer's loyalty, or following, or at least hearing. [119/120]
The miracle story itself displayed or evidenced or vindicated both claims. But what was the great importance of either claim? Why, apart from native curiosity, would anyone care? The answer must be in terms of a point not yet introduced, namely, a desire to be liberated from the grip of Fate, the power of the determined. Such bondage is felt widely at all times, but especially at certain points it seems seems to be remarkably heavy; one such period of time was the Hellenistic age. Such widely divergent movements as the cult (or fear) of Heimarmene, apocalypticism, and gnosticism, attest to the feeling of bondage to what-will-be, to the determined, to the fated. This suggests a third function for the miracle story, in many of its forms:
(3) Mr. A's exousia in doing God X's wonders offers the hearer the possibility of liberation from the determined, the opportunity for freedom from bondage to Fate-hitherto.
The very essence of the miracle, the reason it would be noted at all, was its interpretation of the normal (i.e., fixed or determined) course of events, the intrusion of novelty, and thus the foiling of Fate. Leprosy and demon possession were the very epitome of bondage to Fate, of hopeless dereliction without future. The exorcisms (and cleansings as well?) of Jesus show in his own view, apparently, the inbreaking of the Reign of God -- that is, the intrusion of the novel and the disruption of Fate, or the interruption of the reign of whatever (Satan, in this case) has reigned hitherto without challenge.
With such a view of the ancient Hellenistic miracle story, where is the contemporary analogue, the translation which will make comprehensible the place of miracle story in its own culture? Are such claims made today?
It is worth noting that the analogue is not to be found simply by looking for unusual events or unexplained happenings; for in the main, such events are in principle today part of the natural order, and a ``natural'' explanation of them is presumed, even if not offered. That is, they are usually taken to be part of the same determined or fixed order of natural law as all other events. Only some unusual events qualify (perhaps it was the same in the ancient world).
Further, it is not sufficient to look for those happenings which purport to be repetitions of the ancient miracle stories, such as we see in the charismatic revival meeting or in Pentecostal circles; for, whether they ``happen'' or not (and this question need not be answered for the contemporary scene any more than for the ancient, [120/121] for purposes of this ``meaning-analysis''), they do not participate in this culture in the same way as the ancient miracle story participated in its culture. The contemporary ``divine healing'' service is a cultural backwater, even though it should prove to be the only true form of Christianity; it is not in the mainstream of our cultural life, whereas the ancient miracle story was part and parcel of Hellenistic culture (again, whatever the merits of the miracle story, ancient culture, or religion).
Finally, it should be remembered that the introduction of an eighteenth-century view of miracle (as contravention of natural law) will undermine any attempt to find contemporary miracle stories; for, as noted in the first caveat, above, in the contemporary mainstream of culture there is no such thing, in principle. In other words, answering ``Why?'' with efficient causation was once possible in terms of miracle stories, but in the modern period this has become the way of rationalization, in terms of which no miracle remained. We must not seek the inexplicable, and then utilize ``miracle'' as explanation. Rather, we must seek instances of claims (or stories) of the wonder-full, the marvel-ous, the amazing, which are referred to the authority and/or power (exousia) of an agent (the wonder-worker), who in turn bestows the blessings of some ultimate (or fairly ultimate! -- we must allow for the pantheon in both ancient and modern guises) goal or purpose or value or worth-structure or meaning. And to carry out the third point in our analysis of the Hellenistic miracle story, there should be a liberation from the fateful course of affairs, or from the power of what is otherwise fixed or determined, implicit in the story. (Just what constitutes freedom depends, of course, on which god is involved; for the scholar, liberation from Apollo's service to the ``freedom'' of Aphrodite's love-cult might seem no liberation at all, but the frustrated Don Juan finally escaping from school might be delighted.)
To state the conclusion first, it is my contention that the arena for contemporary narration of the miracle story, should such a thing still exist, would of necessity be the mass media; and among the mass media, above all the location of the phenomenon would be in the cool medium of television (using ``hot'' and ``cold'' media in the McLuhan sense).[2] Within the media themselves, the specific placing of the miracle story would be the ``commercial,'' the attempt to ``sell'' or ``propagandize'' or ``convert'' or ``Make disciples of'' the audience. Since the scope of this essay does not permit any detailed discussion of my choice of television as the prime medium, nor of the ``commercial'' over the ``ad,'' I must simply point to the character of the [121/122] ``cool media'' (of which television in the supreme example in our mass culture today) as being totally involving, including the audience as participant, as distinct from the ``hot media'' (such as radio and film) with their high definition, well-filled with data, but non-involving or less participatory (as a lecture involves less participation than a seminar, a book less than a dialogue -- two famous McLuhan examples). As the hot media are to the cool, so is the ad to the TV commercial, and so (in my analysis, here undefended but only stated) is the sermon to the miracle story: definition is high in the first while participation is low, but in the second it is the reverse.
It should be remembered that the ``commercial'' is not used solely to sell products; sometimes it is used to invite votes for a candidate, induce action for or against a local or a national issue, to build good will for a firm, or even to influence one away from the use of products deemed harmful (as in the American Cancer Society campaign against cigarettes). But in every case, it is aimed to ``convert'' in some way, or ``make disciples'' of a sort.
It should also be emphasized that I am not arguing that the miracle story occurs nowhere else than in the TV commercial; rather, it is there that one finds it most clearly and in a form most analogous to the ancient form -- hence any further study of it today might do well to begin at this point.
The formal and material analogies of the typical TV commercial to the ancient miracle story are rather obvious. Formally (i.e., in terms of the usual form-critical analysis) the pattern is identical (with a variation in introduction to be commented on later): (1) Miss Muffet suffers from a dreadful condition (has halitosis, a stopped-up sink, unattractive hair, unwhite sheets after laundering), with had results hitherto; (2) the miracle-working agent enters (neighbor next door, man on white horse, mother-in-law) with miracle-working product or formula, which is then applied to her problem; (3) results are shown to be astonishing indeed (she becomes engaged, shows up at the party soon after sink plugs up, friends comment on whiteness of laundry, men whistle as she passes), with cries of approval all around. This three-fold pattern is endlessly varied, as in the ancient form, but it is at its root always the same formula. The variation in introduction mentioned above is a modern, ``cool medium'' device, perhaps having its parallel in the ancient miracle-story-teller beating his drum or shouting for attention: the commercial on television (note the utter difference in the hot medium of radio!) often begins with no obvious problem and no obvious product, but in the midst of a scene or situation of delight (wind whispering through blossom-laden boughs and flower-filled fields; river flowing peacefully; happy couple skipping along the beach; surf breaking on the shore; [122/123] baby cooing and smiling). This has both a formal and a material function: formally, it serves the ``cool'' purpose of involving the viewer in the commercial, making him a participant by offering a low-definition, emotion-filled but data-free scene of happiness he can easily blend into without resistance being aroused; materially, it sets the stage for the ``god'' whose favor the product will win (if Aphrodite is the cult whose worshipers are to be ``sold,'' so that one wins love by using product Q, the scene usually calls up happy love-scenes, though in low-definition, mainly only by suggestion).
The formal parallels are thus obvious; but what of the material parallels? Here we need to find our three functions noted earlier: (1) God X is active in bringing about the wonderful result; (2) Mr. A is possessed of God X's exousia, thus having special claim to loyalty; (3) the miracle story promises the hearer-viewer the possibility of liberation from the determined, the opportunity for freedom from bondage to Fate-hitherto. The parallels to the second and third functions are probably self-evident, while those to the first are perhaps less so. Working in reverse order, we see that the clear promise of the commercial is to liberate the hearer-viewer from his/her bondage to the situation hitherto understood or felt to be hopeless: one's hair-color has doomed one to obscurity and inattention; stopped-up sinks require endless waiting for plumbers, and missing of previously-planned parties or luncheons; bad breath drives away others, without one's even knowing why. The commercial plays on the frustration or anxiety felt in such situations in such a way as to imply that one is doomed, without hope, prior to the advent of the entry of the miracle-worker. This is easiest to manage in the case of problems having to do with one's body, since one is stuck with one's body; one can, after all, change washers, dryers, sinks, detergents, clothing, and thus the feeling of doom is harder to achieve in these cases. But in all cases, the effort is to show that Fate holds the person involved in its grip. The product will liberate one, so that one can enjoy the good things of life as others do.
The second function is an obvious one, also, save that Mr. A, the miracle-worker, is not really the friend who offers one the product, but the product itself, or perhaps we should say the company producing the product. Because the product/company liberates from Fate, opening up one's future, loyalty is expected -- or rather, loyalty is created, by the telling of the story.
The first function at first glance seems less transparent: some God is working in the miracle, bringing a happy issue out of all our afflictions. Here I would assert that there is in reality a strict [123/124] parallel to the ancient pattern (hence the product or company is the agent, Mr. A, not the God X). The only way a product can be sold readily, against resistance, is to follow the model, ``Jesus says, `I'd walk a mile for a Camel!' '' That is, one must be led to expect that one's god will be favorable to one if the product is used, if one is loyal to agent A who offers the miracle. And it is just here that it begins to be evident that the ancient gods are not dead (though language about them is!). Much theological research has been done under the name of ``motivational research,'' wherein the ultimate or penultimate loyalties of people are studied -- what they finally value, or aim at, or intend, or will live their lives for the sake of. This is a form of data-collecting where the data are the gods being served by people. Sometimes there are studies made of what people believe about God, etc.; but these are in the main pointless, because they merely study what people say about their beliefs with respect to a strange word, ``God.'' What people really live for and worship and value and aim at rarely comes to light in such research. But ``motivational research'' done by the ``hidden persuaders'' tries to turn up the real gods, whatever they be called (if called at all -- and mostly they are not; certainly they are not called ``gods''); and the promise of the favor of those (actually-worshiped) gods really moves goods, or at least so it is believed or hoped in the trade.
One example should suffice: Those who live for and serve Aphrodite (even if polytheistically, without singleness of heart and devotion) are those whose lives (at least in part) are aimed at finding love and pleasure (love-pleasure), who value sex-love-romance enough to sacrifice other things for them. Aphrodite's favor means finding love-sex-romance. One's life which is hitherto doomed to being unloved would be liberated from such fate if Aphrodite smiled -- that is, if there were some miracle which would bring Aphrodite's blessings into one's life. The miracle story (television commercial) offers such a hope; but it gains its force only because there are many who (without saying the name ``Aphrodite'') desire earnestly and would sacrifice for (and to) the possibility of having sex-love-romance in one's life -- that is to say, because there are many whose god turns out to be Aphrodite, under whatever name (and certainly not called a ``god,'' in view of the demise of that term's utility and meaningfulness).
The number of gods from the Greek pantheon (with the Hellenistic additions thereto) who still have loyal devotees, according to the advertising people's research, is enormous; few seem to have fallen far from Olympus. Only the names are not used; but even the old images seem to abound. Aphrodite of Cnidus or Melos has been updated to a more modernly-attractive figure, and now has [124/125] electromagnetic flesh instead of stone, so that she ``moves'' and ``speaks''; but the resemblance is striking!
We may conclude, therefore, that the ancient miracle story has, in fact, a modern ``translation.'' It is one that abounds, with similar purposes, similar form, and similar functions. It appears daily and nightly on the television screens of hundreds of millions of people, thus with an audience that would have been envied by any ancient miracle-story-teller. Even the gods have been little changed.
The question that remains would seem to be to ask whether the Gospel miracle story is simply another instance of the same phenomenon found in Hellenistic miracle stories in general, and in the modern TV commercial, merely substituting Jesus for the company or product in today's pitch. Or is the New Testament itself in fact critical of such use of the miracle story, despite the obvious tradition of using them to show Jesus as the divine man who could do wonders (theios aner aretalogies)? It is difficult to settles such a question even where space is not a problem, but it is surely not possible within the confines of a brief essay. But at least a suggestion can be made as to the direction of an answer.
Hans Dieter Betz has shown that the story told by Paul in II Cor. 12:7-10, of his ``thorn in the flesh,'' is in fact precisely in the form of a miracle story, more specifically, a healing-miracle story.[3] But there is an oddity to it: precisely where we expect the god to speak and grant the healing-miracle, the Lord denies the miracle that is requested. Instead, he offers his grace, giving Paul the strength that is perfected in weakness. This ``miracle story'' is not chosen at random; it is in fact the one which most nearly matches the situation of Jesus, who prays that his cup might pass, but who instead goes to the Cross, where grace is sufficient to perfect weakness into the only genuine strength, the strength proclaimed by the Christian Gospel. It is altogether too easy to see how similar the Gospel miracle stories are to other Hellenistic miracle stories; of course they are similar, and of course their cultural home is the same. But if that is all there is to say about them, then the Gospels simply present Jesus as another Hellenistic miracle worker, and Christianity is simply another of the many religions of the Hellenistic world.
Is it possible that the real clue to seeing the function of the Gospel miracle stories in their setting (i.e., in the Gospels) is to take [125/126] the Pauline miracle story as the model (and that means to take Jesus' final ``failure'' to achieve a miracle, to escape the Cross, as the model) for understanding the Christian miracle story? And if this should be so, is it possible that the fundamental reason for the difference between Gospel miracle story and Hellenistic miracle story is a fundamental difference in the character of God X in the Christian story? That is, might the one Jesus called ``god'' and ``Father'' be one who offered no conquest of the miseries of life as liberation from Fate, but rather offered only a liberation from endless repetition of (i.e., bondage to) the past, and openness to a future without content (rather than a future of having this or doing that)? And further, might it not be that in the Christian miracle story, liberation from bondage to Fate means, not being freed from suffering or loss or privation, but rather making suffering or loss or privation the means of creating new good and life for others?
If so, the Gospel miracle story would take on a character utterly different in purpose from all other miracle stories, ancient or modern. For the question that remains, after all the miracle stories are told, is actually, ``What really overcomes Fate? And what really constitutes freedom from it?'' Each miracle story, ancient and modern, offers an answer. But even in hermeneutics, the question remains, which is the right one?