The question posed by Jesus’s disciples—”Why do you speak to them in parables?” (Matthew 13:10)—is one of the most intellectually puzzling in the Gospels. His answer, quoting the prophet Isaiah, is equally challenging: “the reason I speak to them in parables is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.'”
On its face, this seems like a frustrating reply, yet it introduces the radical concept of truth designed for those prepared to receive it. The parable, in this context, is not merely a teaching aid, but a cognitive filter.
The parable works by presenting an everyday, accessible scenario—a farmer sowing seed, a woman baking bread—that requires a degree of spiritual or ethical effort to decode. For the indifferent listener, it is just a pleasant anecdote; they perceive the surface but miss the meaning. For the sincere seeker, however, the story serves as a lens, revealing principles hidden in plain sight. This deliberate opacity is precisely why, for centuries, scholars and ordinary followers alike have labored to interpret these narratives, finding deep, resonant truths that were intentionally obscured from those with a closed mind.
This power to conceal and simultaneously reveal is not unique to sacred texts; it is the essence of all good storytelling. Throughout human history, whether through ancient fables, epic poetry, modern prose, or religious allegory, stories serve as vehicles for abstract truth. They bypass our logical and analytical defenses, allowing us to process complex moral, psychological, or sociological realities—things we don’t see directly—by giving them physical form and narrative structure. Storytelling is a gift, an art form as precious and vital as oil painting or sculpture, capable of distilling the chaos of human existence into understandable, impactful scenes.
While one can certainly appreciate great literature for its technical brilliance, thematic depth, or linguistic complexity, the core appeal remains the same: give me a good story anytime. Ultimately, a well-told narrative is far more than entertainment or even instruction; it is the mechanism through which we are invited to look past the surface of our own lives. It’s the tool that transforms the universal human condition of “seeing without perceiving” into a moment of sudden, personal clarity and shared understanding.
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