A thousand years ago, it was taken for granted that the parables of Jesus were allegories. Yet nowadays, the idea is met with derision. Why? And what are we losing?.
Well, that's the point.
Literary writers and scholars are very clear: an allegory is where two situations have similarities, especially similarities of structure, and so by describing one, we cast light on the other.
Though even this definition is a little too narrow - but we'll get back to that later.
But theologians have invented their own private meaning: that it's only an allegory if every single tiny detail in the one corresponds to a detail in the other! This is of course impossible - no two situations are that parallel, however you tell them. So it's no surprise that theologians insist that the parables aren't allegories - for a theologian, there are no allegories!
Let's make it clearer with an example: with something everybody, including the author, agrees is an allegory (except theologians, of course):
A gentle knight was pricking on the plain,
Yclad in mighty arms and silver shield,
Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain,
The cruel marks of many a bloody field;
Yet arms till that time did he never wield:
His angry steed did chide his foaming bit,
As much disdaining to the curb to yield:
Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit,
As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit.
This is from a poem by Edmund Spenser, called "The Faerie Queene", but I've modernised the spelling; fortunately only a few words - "gentle" = "of good birth", "pricking" = "riding", "yclad" = "clothed", "jolly" = "secure, confident" - are unfamiliar or have changed meaning.
Now, as I said, this is an allegory according to the author. The author himself says in a side essay that the knight is the Church Of England, his arms have been inherited from the Universal Church Militant, but he himself is too young to have fought in battle. All very allegorical. But the horse? Knights have horses, but this is simply a conventional description of a conventional knight's steed, a destrier as a destrier ought to be. No allegory here. Then the knight is "jolly", secure as the Church is secure, and happy to get involved with friendly discussion or genuine defence of the faith, and we're back with allegory.
It is evident that the definition invented by theologians, that an allegory must have every detail matching, simply is not the case here. Yet the author, his patrons, and every scholar of English since his time agree: this is an allegory, and the beginning of one of the greatest ever written, unfinished though it is.
Because obviously they are. Consider this quotation:
Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.
The word "like" twice introduces a second situation: in the first case, we have "hearing these words of mine and putting them into practice" is marked as similar to " a wise man building his house on the rock". We then have some details about the second situation which tell us something about the first. A standard allegory, by literary standards; fits the definition perfectly. The theologian, though, says no: why is the wise man male? Why does the rain specifically come down - and what does it represent that is different from the winds? No no no. This can not possibly be an allegory. Instead it is just a "sermon illustration" - whatever that is: it seems to mean that a preacher can put whatever interpretation on it they want, and miss out any bits they want, without any need to respect the text at all.
Which brings us to why theologians have invented this fake definition of allegory: their problem is the parable of the Good Samaritan.
[The expert in the law] asked Jesus, And who is my neighbour?
In reply Jesus said: A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he travelled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. Look after him, he said, and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.
Which of these three do you think was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?
The expert in the law replied, The one who had mercy on him.
Jesus told him, Go and do likewise.
It was John Calvin who got really upset by this parable. Why? Because of the last section: the obvious - blatantly obvious - interpretation of the "inn" is the Church. This went against everything Calvin stood for: the Church isn't there, he said, to look after the fallen, only to welcome the elect. The elect can never fall among thieves - the elect are chosen by God to be safe, not to be rescued - and especially not to be rescued by a Samaritan - by someone who is reprobate - damned!
Therefore, he insisted, this is not an allegory. But this is so obvious an allegory on the usual definition, that he - and even more his followers - insisted on the new definition of allegory as fitting every tiny detail; they justified this by claiming that any other view undermined the truth and therefore the authority of Scripture.
(Shock news: it doesn't.)
So then they could point out that not every tiny detail of the story is matched by its interpretation: It's not too bad a match, but not perfect. In technical language, we say that the Density of the allegory is high, but not 100%. Therefore it is not an allegory, and therefore the inn is not the Church.
Phew.
That first stanza of the Faerie Queene - its density is much lower than that; probably less than 50%, (but of course numbers aren't exact here - it's a question of feeling, not of counting words) yet it is an allegory. So is there a way round? Maybe we haven't understood the Faerie Queene correctly?
Yes we are. The Faerie Queene is not just an allegory about religious matters: the Redcrosse Knight is not just the Church Of England. According to the author, his allegory also is a Moral allegory; in this The Redcrosse Knight represents the virtue of Holiness. And again, although more cautiously described by the author, his allegory is also a Political allegory, where the Redcrosse Knight is - maybe St. George, or maybe England; Tudor England was not a safe place for over-precision in political matters.
In other words, our original definition of an allegory, which was "where two situations have similarities, especially similarities of structure, and so by describing one, we cast light on the other" is too restrictive - we can have three or more situations, and by describing one we not only cast light on the others, but also enable them to cast light on each other, and even on the one we describe.
We say that an allegory may have a higher Degree than we allowed for in our original definition; that definition spoke of allegories only of degree two, but the Faerie Queene is an allegory of degree four - political, moral, religious and the story itself.
So maybe the things which seemed not to fit the religious allegory do fit the other two?
The destrier was the big hole in the religious allegory, nor does it have any obvious meaning in the political allegory; but in the moral allegory it might be imagined here to be the body, whose lusts true (renaissance) holiness must subdue in order to make progress. Unfortunately I can't find any support for this in the rest of the poem - indeed, some scholars see a dwarf, who is introduced a little after, as the body - but, well, maybe. But again, the detail - the foaming bit and so on - how is that meaningful? Yes, by recognising the higher degree of the allegory we have perhaps - but only perhaps - moved from a density of under half to over half; but we are still nowhere near the 100% that theologians demand.
Similarly with the house built on the rock. We can ask there if the allegory is of degree greater than two, and answer yes. The obvious meaning is that the rock is Jesus's words, the house is the man's life, the rain, floods and storms are the stresses of life, which can not destroy a house built on that rock. But the oddity of the specifically male builder suggests another meaning: that the house is the man's household, his family, and a family built together on the rock can withstand the storms of life - in the world of Jesus's time, householders were of course male. And finally, the rock - "peter" means "rock" in Greek, and is the nickname Jesus gave to his follower Simon, and when he does, he describes Simon Peter as the rock the Church is built on - so maybe churches built on Peter are secure against the world, but churches built on another foundation - you can see where this is going, and can understand that this was very much the favoured interpretation in the Middle Ages, at least in the Western Church centred on Peter's successor.
So the parable is an allegory of - maybe - degree four? They are all a bit similar, but really that's OK: that's why one allegory can encompass them all so easily. And we have built the density up a bit, but still not up to the top: how are the winds and the rain and the floods different?
Interestingly, a different version of this parable has also been recorded: here the builder is ungendered, one house is dug down to the rock while the other just sits on the ground, and there's just one flood - no rains, no winds. This version is hard to lift out of degree two - the rock is always there, just not dug down to - but the allegory is much denser, close to the magic 100% - so higher degree doesn't always imply higher density.
Yes. Er… well, almost. Just one little thing that might or might not be worth explaining.
You see, I mentioned that the interpretations of the "house on the rock" all seem a bit similar, and that may be why they are all possible interpretations. But that isn't the only possibility.
Consider a couple who plant a tree. They did some research: it's quince tree, so it needs moisture at the roots - not waterlogged soil, though, just moist soil: they find the best location: not where it will look prettiest to guests, but the best for the tree. They dig a generous hole, add compost, plant it and stake it - carefully, so as not to bruise the bark. That tree flourished, producing big crops of rich, juicy, undamaged quinces till its dying day - which was long after the couple had left this life.
Another couple also plant a quince tree. They don't bother with the research: they just dig a hole, pop the tree in, fill the hole back up, and walk away. The tree produces a reasonable series of quinces in its first years - but one hot summer and the roots dried; the autumn gales blew the tree over. The tree had no proper root.
Perhaps you can see that these two couples also fit the allegory of the "house on the rock"?
But it's quite a long way from the usual interpretations: the houses were trees - planted, not built; the rock here though is science - specifically, a scientific understanding of trees. And yet - the similarity is obvious. Is this just one more interpretation of the parable? Well, yes, it is.
Yes, but it's more than that. The parable makes clear that the interpretations have an unexpected likeness, an unexpected pattern. There is care, thoroughness, in both builder and planter; there is an external test; the measure of success is long term; there is, most important of all, a rock - real rock under the houses, Peter the rock under the Church, the words of Jesus making a rock for lives to build on, the rock of science that informs the planting.
What we see through the parable, is that what appear to be separate meanings actually have a deeper unity. The pattern here is a reflection of deep truth about how to live - how to make a real difference.
A real difference. Not necessarily a big difference: things don't have to be big to be real. And not a difference to your comfort, not a difference to your purse - not necessarily even to you or in your lifetime. But for all that, a real difference to the world, because what you do is not built on ignorance, not built on doing it on the cheap, not built without proper - but invisible - foundations.
The interpretations, however many they are, share a deeper pattern, a deeper truth about the world we live in, and they share it because the parable has Depth.
Like Density and Degree, Depth doesn't really have a formal measure - it's all about feeling, about taking hold of the parable and grasping it. About seeing what touches your situation, your experience, your life - your faith. What it is not about is forcing every detail to fit your life.
But then, that's why it's a parable; that's why it's an allegory - it's because it touches the deep things in unexpected ways. And it can't do that if every detail has to be mechanically paired with some other detail. A parable does not have every detail corresponding with a detail of the interpretation.
In a parable not every detail matches. That is why we say that parables are allegories.