THE SOCIAL SETTING FOR PROPHETIC MIRACLE STORIES

Burke O. Long
Bowdoin College

ABSTRACT
The Sitz im Leben and social function of the miracle stories about the prophets can be
viewed in terms other than those of veneration of the prophets by certain pious folk. It can be
seen from an examination of various miracle stories about shamans, drawn from various
cultures, that nothing in this type of story points to a real cult of veneration. The stories all
relate to a social situation in which shamanism is actually decadent, when the institution and
its representatives are viewed with circumspection. The question can then be posed whether
or not attitudes of veneration would have been important in shaping and transmitting, for
example, the stories about Elishas wondrous deeds. It seems likely that telling and retelling
miracle stories about the great prophets of the past would have an immediate purpose in
reinforcing the institution of prophecy which was greatly stressed by turmoil all around.
1. Despite a certain ambiguity and persistent problems of translation (Gibert, Hals), Old
Testament critics of late have usually referred to stories about prophets as legends, that is,
as tales which focus upon a figure, a holy man, who was religiously important to people in
ancient Israel (Eissfeldt: 4247; Fohrer: 86, 9095; March: 173174). At least one scholar
has abandoned the term for certain stories (Steck: 142144). Another has sharply restricted its
usage (Koch: 195205). Almost all register their dissatisfaction with the term, owing to its
specific meaning and origin in medieval Christian practice. There, legend referred to material
about the saints that was read on their memorial days, and designed to eulogize the holy man
while edifying the faithful (Jolles: 2361).
1.1 The word persists, and I have no secret urge to expunge it from the language. Nor do I
offer a substitute, only to have it likewise be found wanting. What I see as a problem is that
the very tenacity of the word has kept alive an imprecisely articulated notion of Sitz im
Leben, or social setting, which has been more or less transferred uncritically to certain
narratives involving prophets. Two recent works, and a brief comment in a third, are
illustrative. I single them out only because their authors say forthrightly what many assume,
and thus provide me with the occasion to pose the issue very sharply.
1.2 Gene Tucker (38) wrote that legends of the lives and deeds of holy men tend to glorify
those men and often present them as examples for later generations. For Tucker, the stories
in 2 Kgs 27, united around the theme of Elishas miraculous power, are the best examples
we have of prophetic legends. An hagiographic model is clearly in Tuckers mind, for in these
stories we recognize the voice of the pious followers of Elisha (39). Presumably the social
setting for these legends would have to do with those pious followers as they sought to
glorify the holy man. Alexander Rof (1970, 1974) takes us further along this route. He
discusses several of these narratives as theologically elaborated legend, and singles out seven
anecdotes (2 Kgs 2:1922; 2:2324; 4:17; 4:3841; 4:4244; 6:17; 13:2021) as examples
of the simplest, most pure, written legenda (1970:433). Each story recounts a single
miracle with its consequences. Everything is subordinate to that focus, which does not
convey any moral besides great veneration for the man of God (1970:431). They focus on
the holy man. Belonging to another sphere, he requires a different attitude, that of awe and
care due to divinity or to divine objects (1970:432). The model again is drawn from
hagiology, and Rof cites Christian and Jewish parallels. These simple miracle stories, or
prophetic legenda, had a popular origin in oral tradition, and one would surmise among pious
folk seeking to venerate the holy Elisha. John Gray (466467), likewise thinking of

hagiology, located these same stories in dervish circles, who, though perhaps in
competition with each other for the taller tale, nonetheless were as one in their intent to
enhance Elishas reputation.
2. I believe that these suggestions and allusions to social contextthe pious followers,
dervish circles, veneration, glorify the holy man, serve as examplesare notions which have
been imported with the term legend and hardly derive from the Old Testament texts
themselves. The problem is that such notions skew and severely limit our understanding. My
aim in this article is modest. On the basis of comparative ethnographical materials and a
consequent reconsideration of the Biblical data, I want to suggest another way of viewing the
Sitz im Leben and social function of these simple miracle stories.
2.1 In 2 Kgs 27, one ought first of all to separate out 2:1922; 4:4244; 7:116, all of
which belong with 1 Kgs 17:816 as a special type of story (cf. 2 Kgs 3:427; 8:715). Each
shows a similar literary structure, and each demonstrates a simple ideological claim: events
among men correspond to divine oracles spoken by the prophet (Long). Nevertheless, insofar
as some of these stories recount miracles, they overlap with other tales of Elisha in which
miracle is the primary focus. In this latter group, we may point to 2 Kgs 2:2324; 4:17;
4:3841; 6:17; 13:2021. In all of these, the story centers on the wondrous deed of Elisha,
who has only to speak, instruct, or perform, and the miracle is done. God is hardly
eº
mentioned, except in the title ÕiÆsû haµÕ
loµhiÆm and in the curse of 2 Kgs 2:24. The stories portray Elisha as the

master magician, active among the beneÆ hannebiÆiÆm. But we know

from other traditions that Elisha is more than a miracle worker. He sees visions (2 Kgs 2:11
12; cf. 8:10) and is clairvoyant (2 Kgs 4:16; 5:2526; 6:9, 12, 32). He sends his heart, his
vital essence, without the body, and lets it take part in events afar (2 Kgs 5:26). He gives
oracles on request, apparently in states of altered consciousness (2 Kgs 3:15; cf. 8:1011). He
specializes in ritual healing, diagnosing illness and prescribing cures (2 Kgs 5:1011) or
bringing the dead to life (2 Kgs 4:3435), calling at will upon the power of the deity. In short,
Elisha stands between ordinary men and the world of sacred power, and taps that power for
the managing of social affairs. Just for this reason he is held in awe and respect because of the
dark potential for both evil and good (2 Kgs 2:2324; 4:910). Allowing for the monotheistic
perspective, this composite portrait is as close to that of a typical shaman as one finds in the
Old Testament. Of course, the typical shaman is not easy to recognize, to judge from the
disputes among anthropologists on the matter. For my purposes, I have in mind the
technicians of the sacred who in some way are specially selected and trained, set apart to
establish, in trance or ecstasy, communication with the spirits. The aim is to diagnose and
cure illnesses, or to reveal hidden thingspast, present, and future. The shaman is both
mouthpiece for the spirits and head of the cult addressed to them. He deals with the spirits as
messenger and priest. Whatever else Elisha may have been, the traditions about him certainly
call to mind features of these masters of the spirits as we know them from various other
cultures (Czaplicka, Eliade, Findeisen, Elkin, Park, Corlett, Shirokogoroff).
3. In the light of this fact, one may look with profit at some of these societies which know
shamans, and inquire into the social settings and purposes of tales of their miraculous deeds. I
do this with caution, and with a sense that I have abandoned the safer anchorage of
comparative studies between historically contiguous peoples. Obviously there is no question
of direct correspondence, since each society carries within itself its own particular
characteristics. Yet analogies can be legitimate if drawn between figures whose dominant
functions in their respective societies are similar. Such analogies are most useful as heuristic
tools, suggesting new approaches, new questions for old materials.

3.1 We go first to North America, among the Netsilik Eskimos of northern Canada, where
the shaman plays an important role in maintaining and controlling the social fabric of his
group. People rely upon him to contact and communicate with the spirits, and so diagnose
and alleviate illnesses or catastrophe caused by these same spirits. He stands in the midst of
crucial decisions, calling up plentiful animals for the hunt, divining into the future, protecting
the community from hostile forces, pronouncing oracles. In general, the shaman enters into
and solves all sorts of personal, interpersonal, and communal problems. As such, he is said to
be a man who sees into the unseen world (Rasmussen, 1931:295307; Balikci).
3.11 In the 1920s, when Rasmussen was collecting his data, shamanism among the
Netsilik was in an advanced state of decay. As a whole, the people recognized that there were
no longer any great shamans among them. Belief in the institution and respect accorded
practitioners were mixed with a good deal of scepticism. Rasmussen (1931:295) wrote:
The art rests upon traditions from olden times, and respect for shamanizing is really only
created by what people know from the old tales a shaman should be able to perform, if only
he is sufficiently up in his art.
In fact, modern shamans from time to time felt obliged to perform wondrous feats, sometimes
on demand from rivals or laymen, in order to demonstrate their powers (Rasmussen,
1930b:5860, 1930a:109). Indeed, rivalry among the shamans was a prominent feature of
life. One might suppose that this situation could give rise to reports, then tales, of
extraordinary shamanistic actions. What is apparent is that simple stories of wonders
particularly associated with great shamans of by-gone years seem to flourish at a time when
the practitioners have become somewhat tawdry. Rasmussen gathered many examples of such
stories, and his informants, some of whom were shamans themselves, placed the tales in this
setting. Two examples must suffice us.
There was once a man named Aglumaloqaoq. He used to go breathing-hole hunting at places
that were very far away, in fact to quite another sea. He himself said this, but he had a
companion who did not believe him. He thought Aglumaloqaoq lied when he said he had
hunted in bays and fjords that did not belong to their own land at all. At last his companion
became so eager in his contradiction that one day he went out breathing-hole hunting together
with Aglumaloqaoq. They walked off together and often came over places where the sea ice
was as if pressed or crumpled up. He saw this, but gave it no further thought. At length they
came to the place where Aglumaloqaoq wanted to hunt at the breathing holes, and here they
began to hunt each for himself. Aglumaloqaoq soon caught a seal and then went home
without letting his companion notice anything. Aglumaloqaoq got home to his village safely;
but evening came, and next day, without his hunting companion having turned up. At last he
came home, but he had been so many days on the way back that he had eaten up the seal he
had caught. The way home had been so long to him because he did not know how to make it
short. So great a shaman was Aglumaloqaoq that he could crumple ice up and shorten the
stretches that he had to pass over. I should almost think his companion believed
Aglumaloqaoq after that when he told him anything. (Rasmussen, 1931:301302)
I am a shaman myself, but I am nothing compared with my grandfather Titqatsaq. He lived in
the time when a shaman could go down to the mother of the sea beasts, fly up to the moon, or
make excursions out through space. My grandfather was from Netsilik land; he was very fond
of going out on spirit flights, and once when he was out there he met another great shaman
from Utkuhikjalik, a man named Muraoq, who was also on a spirit flight. They met far out
over the sea ice, about midway between their villages. When the two met, Muraoq spread out
his arms like a bird gliding on its wings, but he was incautious and came so close to Titqatsaq
that they collided in the air; they crashed together so violently that Titqatsaq fell down on the

ice. He lay there without being able to move until Muraoq turned back and got his helping
spirit to help him up again. Scarcely had Titqatsaq got up into the air again when he returned
the compliment and crashed against Muraoq, so that he, too, dropped on to the ice. At first he
thought of leaving him without helping him up; but then he recalled how often Muraoq had
been good to him; that was why he took pity on him, flew back, and helped him up in exactly
the same way as he himself had been helped up; and when they got home they told the people
at their villages all that had happened. It was an easy matter for them to do; nothing was
impossible to the ancients. (Rasmussen, 1931:299300)
3.12 These types of tales are widely represented among North American groups (Gillham;
Birket-Smith, 1953: 127132, 1938:218229). Owing to a lack of requisite information, we
can no longer appreciate the diversity of purpose that such stories may have had at various
times in this non-literate society. What seems clear, however, is that at time of collection, they
served to contrast the present state of decay with the glories of the past. We might suppose
further that they were important in maintaining confidence in the awesome potential of the
institution, while simultaneously supporting scepticism with regard to particular shamans.
Indeed, many informants, while critical, even scornful, of some shamans, nevertheless were
reluctant to criticize them openly for fear of suffering supernatural punishment at the hands of
the offended shaman (Rasmussen, 1931:295296, 1930b:5860).
3.2 This mixture of disbelief and belief, though complicated and difficult to analyze, is not
at all unusual. Ethnographical reporters frequently note its presence in connection with spirit
mediums, diviners, shamans, and the like. Shamans of the Murngin in Australia tell of their
attempts at demonstrating the authenticity of their calling and powers (Warner: 213216).
Zande witchdoctors, who are comparable to classical shamans, must also deal with both a
sceptical and approving public (Evans-Pritchard: 183201)1. Pritchard explicitly notes that
older men severely criticize present day doctors, and point with pride to those days when only
one or two experts practiced in each district. They tell of the giants of the past:
Rakp (Dengbagine) was a witchdoctor. The people went to war and fought until they met a
great river. He rose and took his mbiro medicine in its horn and put a little stick into the horn
and took some medicine and threw it into the midst of the waters. The waters ceased to flow,
they stopped on this side and on that side and dried up, leaving a sandy bottom. Mabenge
descended into the river with his army and crossed over to the other side, the army that
pursued him advanced into the midst of the waters and they shook and caught them and
flowed over them and slew them so that they all perished. Mabenge said that Rakp was a
good witchdoctor for if he had not done well he would have died and all his army on account
of this great river. (Evans-Pritchard: 197)
Rakp danced the dance of divination and rose on high and his hand-bells rang wia wia wia
wia as he rose forever on high. The people lost sight of him and never saw him again. He let
go of his hand-bells and they came down and down and down and fell to the earth. They
11 1. Among the Azande, the witchdoctor is first of all a learned specialist in
combatting witchcraft, that ubiquitous power which for the Azande is involved in
any and every event of misfortune, injury, or deprivation. Thus the doctor cures
and protects. But he also divines, and at seances often speaks in dissociated
states of consciousness. He is not seen as a medium of spirits, however, and
probably ought not to be called a shaman for that reason. Yet, his role in Zande
society is very similar to that of many shamans, if only because what others may
attribute to spirits, the Azande attribute to a witchcraft substance hidden in the
body of witches.

plunged into the earth and the people dug in vain, for they never found them. (EvansPritchard: 197)
3.3 In central Asia, too, stories of wonders performed by shamans appear to be related to a
situation in which scepticism and belief commingle, and shamanism has declined in respect
and practice. Mikhailowski cites a few tales of extraordinary shamans among the Yakut (129),
Teleuts, and Buryats (134). Friedrich and Budruss (173207) have many more. The oral
literature reflects fierce rivalry among these figures as well (Chadwick: 89; Czaplicka: 201;
Shirokogoroff: 371373; cf. Jochelson: 200). The people acknowledge that shamans of
former times were stronger and that the practice grows weaker, even that some
contemporaries are charlatans (Mikhailowski: 138; Shirokogoroff: 391392). To account for
this state of affairs, the Buryats relate how the first shaman, because he was more clever than
God, had his power curtailed. Accordingly, thereafter, shamans have been getting worse and
worse (Mikhailowski: 6364). Indeed, various social and cultural forces have in recent times
worked together to drive underground a religion which in order to flourish requires publicity
and patronage. It is not surprising that traditions of past shamans consistently attribute to
them more power than the shamans of today possess (Chadwick: 81). And may we add that
it is not surprising that under such conditions miracle tales are told. And we may suppose,
with Shirokogoroff (392) that such tales reinforce belief in a flagging institution, while
allowing for criticism and accounting for its decadence.
3.4 Finally, a few examples from middle India (Elwin: 1939, 1955). The Baiga shaman, not
unlike his Siberian cousin, is a person who is medicine man and diviner, spirit medium and
oracle, priest and story-tellera very important person (male and female) in managing most
affairs of village life. Nonetheless, he is known as something of a shadow of the masters of
the past. A myth about the origin of the first shaman makes this point (1939:340341), and
tales of extraordinary feats clearly draw a contrast between glorious past and faded present.
Elwin (1939:338) suggests, albeit not explicitly, their intended purpose:
The magic of the modern Baiga is, of course, a weak and beggarly thing compared to the
magic of their ancestors who could make the dead to liveIf he cannot raise the dead, he can
at least ward off the demons of disease. If he cannot raise crops without seed, he can at least
whisper the secrets of fertility into the seed he has.
So, the Baiga recites his tales:
There once was a gunia [shaman] named Banga Baiga. Wherever he went a tiger followed
him. When he went to his bewar the tiger sat and slept by his side. But when any woman
came there, the tiger was shy and slipped away into the jungle. Banga always put a basketfull
of rice water out for the tiger in the evening, and at midnight it used to come and drink it.
When Baiga couldnt go to his bewar, the tiger used to look after it for him. One day his wife
said, What is that line of footprints between our house and the bewar? Thats only a dog;
come and see for yourself. So she went, but when she saw the tiger, she flung her arms
round her husband, trembling with fear. Dont be afraid, said Banga, and he called the tiger
to him, and began to pat and fondle it. Then his wife did the same, and was no more afraid.
(Elwin, 1939: 339340)
Banga also had the power of stopping fires. If a fire broke out on one side of a house, he
could draw a line beyond which the fire could not spread. He could bring rain by offering a
cock to Bhimsen. He could cross a flooded river. He used to take off his dhoti and throw it
across the water. It would stretch to the opposite bank and stand as solid as a plank. (Elwin,
1939:340)

The wife of a gunia was a witch. They had three daughters and two sons. She was always
troubling the neighbors, and they often beat her, but it was no good. At last she killed her own
eldest son by her magic. The father went away by himself to see who had done this evil. He
soon saw in his supa [winnowing screen, used for divination] that it was his own wife. But he
could not see what he was to do. He came and tried every kind of offering, but his child lay
still and cold. Then at last he saw that he must do juapuja. He took lice from the boys hair,
and taking the creature in his hand, nipped off its head between his nails. He had put a fire
there and he let a drop of its blood fall on the fire. Then he wrapped its body in a leaf and
carried it to the nearest stream and threw it in. The magic that had killed the child had entered
the body of the louse, and it was carried away by the water. When the father returned he
found his son breathing, and the next day he was well again. (Elwin, 1939:386).
3.41 Unfortunately, we do not really know a great deal about the social settings for any of
these traditions from Middle India, or for that matter, from Siberia, North America, or Africa.
Until very recently, ethnographers paid little attention to this sociological dimension of oral
literature, or if aware of some of the proper questions, provided imprecise data upon which to
construct answers. Nevertheless, as pointing to part of the truth, I believe the inferences I
have drawn, though very rough, are justified. The stories all relate to a similar social situation
in which shamanism is actually decadent, when the institution and its representatives are
viewed with circumpspection, if not scepticism. Hence, at least one important function for
such miracle tales would be to reinforce belief in the institution itself, while allowing for
reserve and criticism of particular practitioners. This would obviously be in the interest of
shamans themselves who might be caught in the midst of incredulity and belief on the one
hand, and rivalry among their own kind on the other. But such tales of extraordinary deeds
would serve the layman as well, as he lived in a world of scepticism and belief, contrasting
the glorious past with the present, past its bloom. It seems natural, then, that such stories
would belong to professional and lay alike. And in fact, they do. They are folktales in the
proper sense, fairly widely known among the folk, even if the religious specialist might know
more than the ordinary person, and even if, as in Siberia, the shaman is the chief repository
for oral traditions of all kinds. Finally, none of the stories assembled here, or the cultures
represented, have to do with attitudes of pious veneration toward a shaman. We see nothing,
for example, of what must count for us as a real cult of veneration: regular pilgrimages,
worship, and a rich oral literature associated with tomb-shrines of Sufi holy men, who,
though dead, continue to dispense blessings of Allah to the faithful (Andrzejewski: 1519)2.
4. In the light of these data, one may now question whether or not attitudes of veneration
would have been important in shaping and transmitting the Old Testament stories about
Elishas wondrous deeds. I cannot rule out the possibility. But there is in fact no evidence to
suggest that Elisha in particular, or the nebiÆiÆm in general were viewed
through such eyes. Elisha operates among the sons of the prophets, who dwell before him
(2 Kgs 6:1; cf. 4:38). He is treated with respect, even by kings who may refer to him as
22 2. Jochelson (163169) reports that one Siberian group maintained cults
involving the worship of clan ancestors who were shamans. Bits of dried flesh
were kept and used as amulets and divinatory aids; the shaman-ancestors skull
was dressed and preserved as an object of adoration, carried about for guidance,
and consulted for oracles. Jochelson mentions no stories connected with these
cults. Such modes of veneration seem to be the exception rather than the rule,
as far as I am aware.

father (2 Kgs 5:1519; 6:21; 13:14). The exact meaning of these terms alluding to social
relationships, despite numerous attempts at explanation, remains obscure. Nothing requires us
to think that they involved postures of veneration, however. Elisha simply enjoys renown as
the successor to Elijah, and as one who has done great things (2 Kgs 8:4). Even as the literary
material developed into more complex units, the interest hardly centered on Elisha the holy
man memorialized by pious followers, but rather upon broad theological themes related to the
fundamental relationship believed to exist between God and Israel.
4.1 On the other hand, the Old Testament supplies ample evidence for the hostility,
scepticism, disbelief, as well as belief which the prophets encountered from the earliest to the
latest periods of their activity. Situations of conflict are well known: rivalry between prophets
(1 Kgs 18:2040; 22:1328; Jer 2829; Ezek 13); conflict between a prophet and the royal
house (1 Kgs 18; 19; 22:2627; Amos 7:1017; Jer 3638; 2 Chr 24:2022); conflict with the
populace (Jer 26), who might call the prophet a madman (Hos 9:7), mock him (Jer 17:15;
Isa 28:910), accuse him of being irrelevant (Ezek 12:27), or tell him to shut up (Mic 2:6; Jer
11:21; cf. Isa 30:1011). These situations must be seen against the background of a general
scepticism toward the religious claims being made by the prophets (Mic 3:11; Jer 2:31; 2:27;
44:1619; Mal 2:17; 3:1315). Even if the Old Testament cannot be trusted to give us exact
details, enough glimmers through to suggest that underneath that narrow stream of textual
tradition preserved for posterity lay a seething river of competing religious claims.
Prophetism, as we know it, had to exist in the midst of this situation, and we find by the sixth
century increased polarization of prophet against prophet, and people against prophet,
followed by claim and counter claim, self assertion and inner turmoil (Crenshaw: 110).
4.2 It seems likely that miracle stories about Elisha would have been related to this long
standing situation of religious ambivalence. The fact that themes of hostility and disbelief are
absent in the stories of 2 Kgs 27 need not count against my suggestion, since, if the
ethnographical data are to be trusted, tales about shamans and their wondrous deeds likewise
fail to mention directly the sociological situation in which they find their important function
and setting. In Israel, at the moment of deepest crisis, we hear of precedents being cited from
the activities of bygone prophets (Jer 26:1819). In connection with Jeremiahs troubles, the
redactor saw fit to report an earlier, similar incident of conflict (Jer 26:2023). Hos 12:13
cites a precedent, placing the prophets of the past in close harmony with Israels well-being
(cf. Deut 18:1522). The anecdote in Num 11:2630 also appears to cite a precedent for the
legitimacy of ecstatic prophecy, perhaps at a time when the phenomenon was held in some
disfavor. It seems likely that telling and retelling miracle stories about the great prophets of
the past would have an immediate purpose in reinforcingfor practitioner and layman alike
an institution greatly stressed by turmoil all around. This function and social setting seems
more plausible than that implied in the careless use of legend. It has the advantage of fitting
the available biblical evidence, and avoiding the uneasiness felt when hagiographic models
have been used to interpret prophetic stories.
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