Seeing otherwise than what is seen
Stephen Curkpatrick

 

Christian testimony communicates a reality that is otherwise than what is normally seen. Allegory pitches our perspective into the unseen—the realm of tears, hope and faith within this testimony.

Gospel paradoxes show us that seeing is not always seeing, while “seeing the light” is an admission of blindness. We can grope in darkness that is assumed to be light and not see that it is darkness. In the gospel, light remains hidden until seen in our recognition of blindness. Light is given as the sight of faith in which the gospel gives sight in the midst of darkness assumed to be light.

Whatever seeing gives to human understanding, it is blindness when the very source and possibility of seeing is not seen (Augustine). Seeing otherwise than by sight is made apparent by allegory, showing us that we only see when we begin to see otherwise (Derrida). Allegory exhibits a contrast between two forms of seeing. In one, seeing is seeing that is blind to seeing otherwise than what is seen. In the other, seeing can see otherwise than what is seen; seeing is exposed to the source and meaning of light itself—God as unseen, in whom seeing is possible.

All reading is to some degree allegorical as meaning is transposed from words on a page (Young). Allegory transposes sight into blindness in exposure to seeing that is beyond sight. Sight is exposed to light through the darkening of words on a page, when in those words, what is not said in what is said is seen.

Allegory makes explicit a paradox in all parables—the reality of God is hidden within the drama of human life, which is also to be read otherwise. Parable allegories, such as the vineyard tenants, show this dynamic; one parable can tell two stories.

Many parables are prefaced with the kingdom of God is like. This immediately summons us to see otherwise. What is presented within a parable is also to be read otherwise; another reality impinges on our own. In some parables, God is not even mentioned while being everywhere present to be seen in not being seen.

Parables portray many aspects of life. Ultimate valuations occur within analogies and allegories cast from a world that is seemingly well known. The apocalyptic difference between hearing and listening or seeing and sight is a cleft enhanced and reiterated by parables. Parables invite us into a reality they do not directly portray. This is the dynamic of allegory as meaning that is given otherwise than what is explicitly spoken.

If parables are told for hearing otherwise, they are also read for seeing otherwise.

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If parables are spoken for those with ears to hear, then eyes are for weeping as tears give sight (Derrida). If eyes are for visual appreciation of our world and for evidence through observation of life, tears are for possibilities without evidence—for faith that hopes, even as it is expressed in tangible love.

If parable allegories show explicitly that reality is otherwise than what we see—tears not sight equate with biblical reality in which eyes that weep see what is to be truly seen. In this way too, parables exhibit the reality of God that is to be read otherwise.

In the parable of a prodigal son, God only enters the story explicitly in the son’s shame at the limit of human dignity and implicitly as the father’s patient love. This parable is a scene of tears and seeing otherwise.

The father mourns a son who is dead, even if in the brevity of the parable we only observe his waiting. The son mourns his lost dignity in a far country. His sojourn is reduced to tears of abject poverty with return to an uncertain reception. On returning, we assume there are unexpected tears of joy. The father mourns the elder son’s alienation through his own generosity; this double bind of seeing otherwise and tears of family conflict is a gospel trait.

A widow mourns the loss of dignity in having to champion her quest for justice from an unjust judge. Her tears are the hidden aspect of her persistent, continual approaches (ērcheto reiterated coming) to a formidable, disinterested judge.

A father loses a beloved son in a vineyard murder, in a parable that is an allegory of both the sustained passion of God in Israel and the same passion, expressed in a new way, pervading the gospels.

Weeping over Jerusalem, the city of peace that knows no peace, Jesus utters a parable of a hen and her brood. Going to the cross, his prognostic parable of doom to the innocents of Jerusalem suggests they will be caught up in the tinter dry, incendiary rhetoric of those in quest of a political place under the sun—for if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?

The gospels’ disclosure of God’s reality—of things that make for peace—remains veiled, except for those who live with human tears, weary and heavy laden, for whom the invitation to approach and find rest is received. This invitation is coupled with the possibility of knowing and therefore seeing the hidden Father through the visible Son—the primary impetus of New Testament testimony.

True consolation within life as a proverbial “veil of tears” is given in the beatific combination of the poor in spirit and receiving the reality of God or the meek and inheriting the earth. Those who weep are truly blessed because they can see otherwise than others. This is the impetus of sustained apocalypse in biblical testimony.

We do not exist by our own possibilities and are compelled to discover our true life otherwise than seemingly obvious perceptions of life. Eyes may observe and intellect may conclude so much about human life, in the same way we can observe the workings of a parable, offer an interpretation, but not begin to see otherwise. Weeping and faith transgress such parameters as we are awakened to see ourselves and life otherwise than we have presumed.

God is mentioned sparingly in parables, but tears, prayers and joy are everywhere present. By these, the reality of God is seen.

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Allegory is assumed to encode or to determine our responses but this is not so in the gospels. There is always scope for our free decisions. In the destiny of seed in various soils of the sower allegory, good soil is the most significant factor in both parable and allegory. Yet what precisely is good soil?

Good soil is accepting the word and holding it firmly with an honest and good heart, bearing fruit with patient endurance. What is the source of this response? In what soil of human experience and character does this occur?

The gospels concern good soil—those who live with tears, obvious or concealed, who respond readily to the word of grace and hope amid many diversions. This word can be veiled from eyes that will not see in hearing that will not hear. Is this because there is no time for hope and love sustained amid tears?

Gospel images depict the lost, sinful or burdened responding with honest hearts exposed to God. In biblical testimony, this is repentance; among its fruits is joy. Recall the parable aphorism—the humble will be exalted.

The sower allegory does not encode our response. Expressions of the allegory’s focus on soil are reiterated in subtle expositions of good soil and other types of soil in the diverse encounters and responses portrayed in the gospels. This particular allegory opens onto every page of the gospels and New Testament testimony to life in grace. It is there we discover good soil.

Called to see otherwise through tears that recognise the necessity of grace as sinners in need of a physician, disciples also know tears of testimony, the final test of testimony—martyria—being martyrdom. For Jesus in Gethsemane, tears of testimony in seeing and heeding the Father’s will lead to the cross and resurrection; in turn, these tears are intrinsic to our seeing.