CHAPTER VI.

Whether the Parables are real or fictitious Narratives? THOSE who should contend that the word parable necessarily denotes a fiction of some kind or other, would obviously beg the point in dispute, upon this question; and those who should draw a distinction, as some writers have done, between a parable as such, and an history as such, would draw a distinction without a difference. If we look at the original meaning of the word, it is that of comparison, juxta-position, contrast, and the like; a very appropriate name for the process of adumbrating one series of things by another, as in the use of an allegory, or for the means of illustrating one truth by another, as in the use of a moral example.

Every parable of the New Testament, with which only the present question is concerned, contains more or less of history; so that every such parable is necessarily an history: nor can the meaning of these terms, in their ordinary acceptation, be otherwise than convertible, or without an absurdity, be distinguished asunder. But it is not every history, that is necessarily a Gospel parable. To the idea of such an history it is requisite that, whether made for the purpose or not, it should be produced either to illustrate some point of practice, or to personify some series of facts; in the one case, as a parabolic example; in the other, as a parabolic allegory. It is not, therefore, the mere use of history or narrative that makes a parable, but history or narrative, ap

plied and intended for one of two particular purposes; and though no one can deny that fictitious narratives might certainly be employed for either of those purposes, yet it is equally evident that real histories, or actual matters of fact, might serve for them just as

well.

There is so little difference in the outward structure of each species of parables, that whatever arguments might imply the reality of the moral, would seem to be equally applicable to that of the allegorical; of which we cannot have a better proof, than the fact that many of the latter class, which were in all probability purely allegorical, and originally intended for prophecies, have been repeatedly mistaken, and explained as moral examples. We might assume, then, apparently with equal probability or improbability, that all the Gospel parables were alike real histories, or alike fictitious; and could it be shewn that the allegorical in particular were real, we might conclude, from that fact, with still greater certainty, that the moral could not possibly be fictitious.

The reverse of this supposition, however, would not equally hold good: that the allegorical parables in particular must be concluded to consist of real histories, because it had been shewn, either necessarily or presumptively, that the moral ones did so. The double nature of the former parables gives them an outward structure, which makes them appear one thing, and an inward meaning, which renders them in reality another thing; whereas the single nature and intent of the moral are compatible with no construction of their meaning, but the outward and obvious one. The letter of the allegory being a mere

cypher, and the spirit alone being the true key to the unlocking of the text, such parables not only admit of a translation and interpretation, but require them, to be understood; and the translation or version which explains the allegory, turns out to be simple history-but history by anticipation; that is, the future, prophetically related beforehand.

There is consequently a real history at the bottom of the allegorical, in every such parable; so that they must be considered, under all circumstances, as real histories drest up in the disguise of fictitious. We must not look at these parables, as what they are in themselves, and in their outward, prima facie sense and meaning; but what they are in their concealed import-their inward construction; and what they become when translated and interpreted. It is not impossible for one real history to be rendered the medium of symbolically representing and communicating another; but if the real history is used merely symbolically, the reality itself becomes tantamount to fiction;-for that use and purpose, the matter of fact has no meaning nor reality of its own; nothing, beyond its essence and signification as a symbol. We may lay it down then as a general conclusion with respect to the allegorical parables, that either they consist of narratives which are purely fictitious-which in no sense are matters of real factor if they consist of true histories, that is, of narratives which in themselves are made up of matters of fact (which is a possible case)—even the matter of fact, pro hac vice, and as the symbol and vehicle of something beyond itself, is to be considered equivalent to fiction. The only true history, or series of real matters of fact, in such pa

rables, is that which lies at the bottom of the external.

With respect, however, to the parables of the second class, which were mere simple histories, and practical examples, requiring to be received and construed exactly as they were delivered; possessing neither use nor purpose, beyond their meaning as declared and applied in their exposition; the case may be very different. Such parables must be either purely and totally fictitious narratives, or purely and totally real ones; and either, exactly as they are, or as what they appear to be.

Now what criterions have we, to judge of the reality of a moral example in a given instance, except such as are furnished by its own constitution? and what evidences of its own truth and reality can a given history furnish, but its intrinsic probability, and its consistency in all its parts? The narratives contained in the moral parables, are not merely possible per se, (and therefore such as to bar any antecedent improbability of their being true,) but probable also: nor are they merely probable, so as to warrant a kind of weak presumption of their truth, but withal so eminently probable-so close an approximation to realities, both in the matter and in the manner of the relation-so consistent with nature and experience, tried by any rule we may please to adopt; that nothing but the force of inveterate prejudice—nothing but the confirmed habit of associating with the idea of a parable the notion of a fictitious history, could induce us to suppose they were not real.

Our Saviour's moral parables are surely not like the apologues of Æsop: yet if both alike are really

fictitious, what is there to discriminate them asunder? and why may not the fables of the one be called parables, and the parables of the other fables? But the fables of Esop, however ingenious, are still fables, and would not impose on a child: the parables of our Saviour, if not real histories, are yet so like them, that we must do violence to our first impressions, on hearing or reading them, not to believe them real. In reading the compositions of the most celebrated masters of the apologue, we are conscious that we are reading fictions from the first; and it requires an effort of the mind to forget that, and to persuade ourselves that we are reading a reality. But in perusing the moral parables of the New Testament, the delusion, if it is a delusion, is all on the other side: it requires an effort to recover the mind from the conviction that she is perusing truth; that after all, she is not imposed on merely by fiction, artfully disguised under the semblance of truth.

It appears to me, that we shall only think as we ought of the character of our Lord; we shall only do justice to the dignity and importance of the ends which he proposed by the delivery of his parables, if we suppose that all those, which he records as true histories, for a moral design and application, were really so. Perhaps, we cannot believe them to be false, that is, fictitious, or the work of his own imagination, without detracting somewhat from that refined and exalted conception, which every pious and right minded Christian would willingly entertain, of the purity, simplicity, candour and benevolence, the habit of thought, the turn and disposition of mind, of Jesus Christ. For it cannot be