The Science of Miracles

by Joe Nickell

  In the West, certain Christian charismatics believe their faith provides them with immunity to serpents, just as they are given the ability to speak in tongues and the power to heal by the laying on of hands. They are inspired by two New Testament passages. In Luke (10:18–19), Jesus said to some followers:

  I behold Satan as lightning fall from heaven. Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.

  And in a passage in the Gospel of Mark (16:16–18), when Jesus appeared to his disciples after his resurrection, he said:

  He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned. And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.

  However, the latter passage may be spurious—an addition of the second century (Larue 1990, 212).

  The modern practice of snake handling seems to have originated in 1909 with one George Went Hensley, an illiterate Church of God preacher. Hensley was preaching about the Mark 16 passage in an outdoor service near Cleveland, Tennessee, when a box of rattlesnakes was overturned next to his pulpit. Hensley picked up the snakes and continued preaching—thus becoming known as “the original prophet of snake handling” (Yardley 1992).

  No major Pentecostal denomination now endorses snake handling, and it has been specifically rejected by the Church of God. Even so, some rural congregations continue the practice, including the Free Pentecostal Holiness Church (with churches in Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, and North Carolina) and various independent churches scattered throughout Appalachia. The churches are invariably small, rural edifices like a small-town Alabama one converted from a store and filling station (Nickell 1998, 117).

  Adherents of the practice insist that taking up serpents should only be done when worshippers truly feel the Holy Spirit is upon them. The urge to caution in handling snakes, however, may reflect more shrewdness than piety. While poisonous snakes are indeed dangerous and must be handled carefully, the knowledge that the rural snake handlers bring to the practice can be most helpful. For example, unless snakes are hot, hungry, or frightened, they move little and are relatively unaggressive (Parsons 1990, 15). Also, snakes raised from hatchlings can become accustomed to handling. Large snakes grasped firmly behind the neck will be unable to bite, and, “once they are off the ground they are much less likely to bite and can usually be held safely” (Mattison 1991, 56–57). In addition to these general practices, there are some that apply to different species of snakes that handlers can take advantage of (see Nickell 1998, 119).

  The extent to which trickery is employed may be debated. Certainly there are occasional allegations of the use of defanged snakes.

  Those who do receive snakebites are told it was their lack of faith that caused them. Yet when a devout member of the sect dies from a snakebite, the others resort to rationalization (Nickell 1998, 120–21).

  Moreover, while snakebites should certainly be treated, the fact is that—fortunately—venom is rarely injected directly into a blood vessel, which would provide the most deadly threat. Also, snakebites vary in the amount of venom injected: With a mild snakebite, the strike is a glancing one and the result is minimal pain; a moderate snakebite causes some localized pain and swelling but not a general sick feeling; and a severe snakebite causes excruciating pain, discoloration and swelling, and a generalized sick feeling. Multiple bites are the most deadly, since venom can be injected with each bite, and the attack of several snakes could therefore be life threatening in the extreme.

  Also, the effect of the snakebites varies considerably depending on the health and size of the victim, the speed of venom absorption, and the location of the bite, which fortunately is usually in the extremities. Remaining calm—since panic helps spread the venom more quickly—is essential, as snake handlers well know (Nickell 1998, 119; Smith and Brodie 1982, 9–10).

  Ironically, snake handling's “original prophet,” George Went Hensley, died in 1955 of a snakebite sustained during a religious service (Yardley 1992).

  SIDESHOWS

  Also in the West, snakes were part of circus and carnival exotica. They were included in menageries and featured in sideshows.

  The standard snakes for the latter were Indian pythons and Central America boa constrictors, snakes that are dangerous “only if you let them get a coil around your neck or chest and then only if you are alone and can't find the head or tail” (Gresham 1953, 141–42).

  A link with the East was sometimes acknowledged in sideshow presentations. A young Indian woman—Saidor A. Isoha—appeared in 1890s publicity photographs by Karl Hagenbeck, whose German circus was among the most important shows in Europe. Saidor had reportedly given up her cobras after watching a man suffer a terrible death from a cobra bite. She once staged public fights, pitting a cobra against a mongoose. Reported William G. FitzGerald (1897), in the London magazine the Strand, “This was a little costly, however, for the cobra was always killed.”

  Saidor, who dressed in colorful Indian costumes and wore metal bracelets on her wrists and upper arms, owned six Indian and three African pythons plus three boa constrictors, all in the eight- to twelve-foot range. Wrote FitzGerald (1897): “She has a real affection for her snakes, and they for her. One large python will form himself into a living turban about her head.”

  Most of the European and American sideshow snake charmers were women. The combination of the scantily clad ladies and their fang-bearing charges was a subtly erotic, beauty-and-the-beast theme that was irresistible to sideshow banner artists. In researching my book Secrets of the Sideshows (2005), I occasionally met one of the performers, as shown in figure 49.2. Obviously (as with eating fire, lying on a bed of nails, and similar tortures I endured for my research), I lived to tell about it.

  In addition to snake handling, certain other practices of some Christian fundamentalists also represent “supernatural gifts” of the Holy Spirit. These include the ability to drink poison, withstand fire, and “speak in tongues.”

  DRINKING POISON

  The same biblical verse that refers to taking up serpents (Mark 17:18) also promises adherents that “if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them. Since the passage is in an apocryphal section of Mark's Gospel, there is no evidence that early Christians actually engaged in the practice. Still, some independent Pentecostal churches do combine snake handling with the drinking of strychnine, an alkaloid discovered in 1817. Strychnine is decidedly poisonous (even though it has been used medically—both in cathartic preparations and as a tonic and stimulant). In 1973 two Pentecostals died after drinking the poison during a Tennessee service (Nickell 1993, 121–22).

  In fact the practice of sipping strychnine—typically from a jar of water supposedly “laced” with the poison—is not done under controlled scientific conditions, so how much poison is actually imbibed in a given instance is unknown, as is whether an antidote (commonly egg white) has been ingested. Interestingly, the poison is typically sipped prior to the snake handling—a small amount of strychnine actually being advocated to treat certain physiological effects that result from snakebites (Ditmars 1959, 124).

  WITHSTANDING FIRE

  Another form of invincibility some Pentecostals purportedly attain is immunity from fire. One feat involves a lit kerosene “lamp” (improvised from a bottle with a cloth wick) held to the performer's hands and feet without causing harm. But this seems little different than a sideshow performer's using a torch—kept in motion—for a similar stunt that I have performed myself on several occasions (figure 50.1). In fact, as one photograph of a Christian performer reveals, the sole of his foot is placed beside the flame, not over it, where the rising flame would surely do harm if it remained there (Nickell 1993, 122–25).

  An elderly friend o
f mine related an amusing and revealing incident involving fire immunity. While attending a “Holy Roller” service, some worshipers removed and handled the hot glass chimneys from old-fashioned “coal oil” (kerosene) lamps. Actually they tossed them from hand to hand—“quite gingerly,” she said. A local minister, growing angry at watching the stunt, suddenly leapt from his seat in the audience and seized one of the lamps, whereupon he duplicated the effect, which he noted anyone could perform. As the Pentecostals rushed to stop him, the “miracle” service was transformed into one of religious acrimony (Nickell 1993, 124).

  Certain religious practitioners—not Pentecostals, but mystics from the East—attempt to prove their resistance to fire by walking barefoot across hot embers. I, too, have demonstrated this feat many times (see figure 50.2). Such “fire walking” depends on the facts that wood does not conduct heat well and that the time of contact is kept brief (Nickell 2005, 211–12).

  SPEAKING IN TONGUES

  So-called speaking in tongues is another practice of some charismatic Christians—appearing in the New Testament as a fulfillment of Jesus’ promise that his apostles were soon to be “baptized with the Holy Ghost” (Acts 1:5, 2:1–4). Such incoherent utterances—known in psychological circles by the Greek term glossolalia—have recurred in Christian revivals through the ages, including thirteenth-century mendicant friars, the early Quakers, converts of Methodist founder John Wesley (1703–1791), the Shakers (that is, the “Shaking Quakers”), and many other revivalists.

  Some practitioners speak in languages they allegedly are unfamiliar with; that is, they supposedly practice xenoglossy. If this is not feigned, it may be an example of unusual recollection (as from earlier exposure to the language—what psychologists call cryptomnesia (or “hidden memory”). (For more on this, see Baker 1992.)

  Often glossolalists simply jabber in a manner that resembles a known foreign language (much like comedian Sid Caesar's hilarious renditions of “German” and “French”) that might pass as such to persons who were not actually conversant with those languages. However, linguistically, such utterances are nothing more than false languages.

  Indeed, analysis of many expressions of glossolalia show it to be linguistic nonsense. An extensive five-year study of the phenomenon on several continents was conducted by Dr. William T. Samarin, a professor of anthropology and linguistics at the University of Toronto. He concluded:

  Glossolalia consists of strings of meaningless syllables made up of sounds taken from those familiar to the speaker and put together more or less haphazardly. The speaker controls the rhythm, volume, speed and inflection of his speech so that the sounds emerge as pseudolanguage—in the form of words and sentences.

  Glossolalia is language-like because the speaker unconsciously wants it to be language-like. Yet in spite of superficial similarities, glossolalia fundamentally is not language.

  Samarin also observed that, according to more than half of the glossolalists he studied, it was actually easier to speak in tongues than in ordinary language (“Speaking in Tongues” 1972; Samarin 1972, 70).

  The CBS television movie The Staircase (April 12, 1998), told how “a dying nun's wish to complete her order's chapel is fulfilled by a mysterious stranger” (Bobbin 1998). Starring Barbara Hershey as the terminally ill mother superior and William Peterson as the enigmatic carpenter, the movie is an embellishment of the legend of the “miraculous stairway” at the Sisters of Loretto Chapel in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The wooden, spiral stair is thought to be unique, and some claim its very existence is inexplicable.

  PIOUS TALE

  The Loretto legend begins with the founding of a school for females in Santa Fe in 1852. A combined day and boarding school, the Loretto Academy was established by the local Sisters of Loretto at the behest of Bishop John Lamy. In 1873 work began on a chapel. Unfortunately, some earthly, even earthy, events reportedly marred the work: the wife of Bishop Lamy's nephew caught the architect's eye and he was killed for his interest—shot by the nephew, who was distraught over his destroyed marriage.

  At this time work on the chapel was nearing completion and, although the choir loft was finished, the architect's plans provided no means of access. It was felt that installing an “ordinary stair” would be objectionable on aesthetic grounds and because it would limit seating (Bullock 1978, 6, 8). “Carpenters and builders were called in,” according to one source, “only to shake their heads in despair.” Then, “when all else had failed, the Sisters determined to pray a novena to the Master Carpenter himself, St. Joseph” (the father of Jesus) (Bullock 1978, 8).

  “On the ninth day,” reportedly, their prayers were answered. A humble workman appeared outside, leading a burro laden with carpentry tools. He announced that he could provide a suitable means of access to the loft, requiring only permission and a couple of water tubs. Soon, he was at work:

  Sisters, going in to the Chapel to pray, saw the tubs with wood soaking in them, but the Man always withdrew while they said their prayers, returning to his work when the Chapel was free. Some there are who say the circular stair which stands there today was built very quickly. Others say no, it took quite a little time. But the stair did grow, rising solidly in a double helix without support of any kind and without nail or screw. The floor space used was minimal and the stair adds to, rather than detracts from, the beauty of the Chapel.

  As the tale continues:

  The Sisters were overjoyed and planned a fine dinner to honor the Carpenter. Only he could not be found. No one seemed to know him, where he lived, nothing. Lumberyards were checked, but they had no bill for the Sisters of Loretto. They had not sold him the wood. Knowledgeable men went in and inspected the stair and none knew what kind of wood had been used, certainly nothing indigenous to this area. Advertisements for the Carpenter were run in the New Mexican and brought no response.

  “Surely,” said the devout, “it was St. Joseph himself who built the stair.” (Bullock 1978, 8, 10)

  No doubt the legend has improved over the intervening century, like good wine. As we shall see, there is more to the story. But Barbara Hershey concedes, “Those who want to believe it's a miracle can, and those who want to believe this man was just an ingenious carpenter can” (Bobbin 1998). Evidence for the latter is considerable, but first we must digress a bit to understand spiral stairs.

  WINDING STAIRS

  Spiral and other winding staircases reached a high point in development in sixteenth-century England and France, with several “remarkable” examples (“Stair” 1960; “Interior Decoration” 1960). To appreciate the architectural and other problems such stairs present we must recognize that builders use turns in staircases to save space or to adapt to a particular floor plan. The simplest is the landing turn, which is formed of straight flights joined at the requisite angle by a platform. A variation is the split landing, which is divided on a diagonal into two steps.

  Instead of a landing, the turn may be accomplished by a series of steps having tapered treads. Such staircases are called winders and include certain ornamental types, like that which takes the shape of a partial circle (known as “circular stair”) or an ellipse. An extreme form of winding staircase is a continuous winder in the form of a helix (a line that rises as it twists, like a screw thread). This is the popularly termed “spiral staircase,” like the example at Loretto Chapel (Locke 1992, 135–36; Dietz 1991, 340–42).

  Helixes—unlike, say, pyramids—are not inherently stable weight-supporting structures. They require some kind of strengthening or support. Therefore, in addition to being secured at top and bottom, the spiral staircase is usually also braced by attachment along its height to a central pole or an adjacent wall (Dietz 1991, 342; “Stair” 1960).

  Unfortunately, spiral and other winding staircases are not only problematic in design; they are also fundamentally unsafe. Explains one authority, “For safety, any departure from a straight staircase requires careful attention to detail in design and construction.” Especially, “becau
se people tend to travel the shortest path around a corner, where a winder's treads are narrowest, the traveler must decide at each step where each foot falls. This may be an intellectual and physical exercise best practiced elsewhere. In short, winders are pretty but inherently unsafe” (Locke 1992, 135, 136). Other experts agree. According to Albert G. H. Dietz, professor emeritus of building engineering at MIT, winders “should be avoided if at all possible. No adequate foothold is afforded at the angle [due to the tapering] and there is an almost vertical drop of several feet if a number of risers converge on the same point. The construction is dangerous and may easily lead to bad accidents” (Dietz 1991, 341). As a consequence, winders are frequently prohibited by building codes. That is especially true of the spiral stair, which “contains all the bad features of the winder multiplied several times” (Dietz 1991, 342).

  PARTIAL MIRACLE

  Such problems seem to have beset the staircase at Loretto, suggesting that, at most, the “miracle” was a partial one. Safety appears to have been a concern at the outset, since there was originally no railing. At the time the staircase was completed, one thirteen-year-old sister, who was among the first to ascend to the loft, told how she and her friends were so frightened—absent a railing—that they came down on hands and knees (Albach 1965). Nevertheless, despite the very real hazard, it was not until 1887—ten years after the staircase was completed—that an artisan named Phillip August Hesch added the railing (Loretto n. d.). No one claims it was a miracle, yet it is described as “itself a work of art” (Albach 1965) (see figure 51.1).

  Over time, other problems arose relating to the double-helix form. The helix, after all, is the shape of the common wire spring. Therefore, it is not surprising that people who trod the stairs reported “a small amount of vertical movement” or “a certain amount of springiness” (Albach 1965) and again “a very slight vibration as one ascends and descends rather as though the stair were a living, breathing thing” (Bullock 1978, 14).