'And when He was alone, they that were about Him with the twelve asked
of Him the parable. 11. And He said unto them, Unto you it is given to
know the mystery of the kingdom of God: but unto them that are
without, all these things are done in parables: 12. That seeing they
may see, and not perceive; and hearing they may hear, and not
understand; lest at any time they should be converted, and their sins
should be forgiven them. 13. And He said unto them, Know ye not this
parable? and how then will ye know all parables? 14. The sower soweth
the word. 15. And these are they by the way side, where the word is
sown; but when they have heard, Satan cometh immediately, and taketh
away the word that was sown in their hearts. 16. And these are they
likewise which are sown on stony ground; who, when they have heard the
word, immediately receive it with gladness; 17. And have no root in
themselves, and so endure but for a time: afterward, when affliction
or persecution ariseth for the word's sake, immediately they are
offended. 18. And these are they which are sown among thorns; such as
hear the word, 19. And the cares of this world, and the deceitfulness
of riches, and the lusts of other things entering in, choke the word,
and it becometh unfruitful. 20. And these are they which are sown on
good ground; such as hear the word, and receive it, and bring forth
fruit, some thirtyfold, some sixty, and some an hundred.'--Mark iv.
10-20.
Dean Stanley and others have pointed out how the natural features of
the land round the lake of Gennesaret are reflected in the parable of
the sower. But we must go deeper than that to find its occasion. It
was not because Jesus may have seen a sower in a field which had these
three varieties of soil that He spoke, but because He saw the
frivolous crowd gathered to hear His words. The sad, grave description
of the threefold kinds of vainly-sown ground is the transcript of His
clear and sorrowful insight into the real worth of the enthusiasm of
the eager listeners on the beach. He was under no illusions about it;
and, in this parable, He seeks to warn His disciples against expecting
much from it, and to bring its subjects to a soberer estimate of what
His word required of them. The full force and pathos of the parable is
felt only when it is regarded as the expression of our Lord's keen
consciousness of His wasted words. This passage falls into two
parts--Christ's explanation of the reasons for His use of parables,
and His interpretation of the parable itself.
I. Christ was the centre of three circles: the outermost consisting of
the fluctuating masses of merely curious hearers; the second, of true
but somewhat loosely attached disciples, whom Mark here calls 'they
that were about Him'; and the innermost, the twelve. The two latter
appear, in our first verse, as asking further instruction as to 'the
parable,' a phrase which includes both parts of Christ's answer. The
statement of His reason for the use of parables is startling. It
sounds as if those who needed light most were to get least of it, and
as if the parabolic form was deliberately adopted for the express
purpose of hiding the truth. No wonder that men have shrunk from such
a thought, and tried to soften down the terrible words. Inasmuch as a
parable is the presentation of some spiritual truth under the guise of
an incident belonging to the material sphere, it follows, from its
very nature, that it may either reveal or hide the truth, and that it
will do the former to susceptible, and the latter to unsusceptible,
souls. The eye may either dwell upon the coloured glass or on the
light that streams through it; and, as is the case with all
revelations of spiritual realities through sensuous mediums, gross and
earthly hearts will not rise above the medium, which to them, by their
own fault, becomes a medium of obscuration, not of revelation. This
double aspect belongs to all revelation, which is both a 'savour of
life unto life and of death unto death.' It is most conspicuous in the
parable, which careless listeners may take for a mere story, and which
those who feel and see more deeply will apprehend in its depth. These
twofold effects are certain, and must therefore be embraced in
Christ's purpose; for we cannot suppose that issues of His teaching
escaped His foresight; and all must be regarded as part of His design.
But may we not draw a distinction between design and desire? The
primary purpose of all revelation is to reveal. If the only intention
were to hide, silence would secure that, and the parable were
needless. But if the twofold operation is intended, we can understand
how mercy and righteous retribution both preside over the use of
parables; how the thin veil hides that it may reveal, and how the very
obscurity may draw some grosser souls to a longer gaze, and so may
lead to a perception of the truth, which, in its purer form, they are
neither worthy nor capable of receiving. No doubt, our Lord here
announces a very solemn law, which runs through all the divine
dealings, 'To him that hath shall be given; and from him that hath
not, shall be taken away even that which he hath.'
II. We turn to the exposition of the parable of the sower, or rather
of the fourfold soils in which he sows the seed. A sentence at the
beginning disposes of the personality of the sower, which in Mark's
version does not refer exclusively to Christ, but includes all who
carry the word to men. The likening of 'the word' to seed needs no
explanation. The tiny, living nucleus of force, which is thrown
broadcast, and must sink underground in order to grow, which does
grow, and comes to light again in a form which fills the whole field
where it is sown, and nourishes life as well as supplies material for
another sowing, is the truest symbol of the truth in its working on
the spirit. The threefold causes of failure are arranged in
progressive order. At every stage of growth there are enemies. The
first sowing never gets into the ground at all; the second grows a
little, but its greenness soon withers; the third has a longer life,
and a yet sadder failure, because a nearer approach to fertility. The
types of character represented are unreceptive carelessness, emotional
facility of acceptance, and earthly-mindedness, scotched, but not
killed, by the word. The dangers which assault, but too successfully,
the seed are the personal activity of Satan, opposition from without,
and conflicting desires within. On all the soils the seed has been
sown by hand; for drills are modern inventions; and sowing broadcast
is the only right husbandry in Christ's field with Christ's seed. He
is a poor workman, and an unfaithful one, who wants to pick his
ground. Sow everywhere; 'Thou canst not tell which shall prosper,
whether this or that.' The character of the soil is not irrevocably
fixed; but the trodden path may be broken up to softness, and the
stony heart changed, and the soul filled with cares and lusts be
cleared, and any soil may become good ground. So the seed is to be
flung out broadcast; and prayer for seed and soil will often turn the
weeping sower into the joyous reaper.
The seed sown on the trodden footpath running across the field never
sinks below the surface. It lies there, and has no real contact, nor
any chance of growth. It must be in, not on, the ground, if its
mysterious power is to be put forth. A pebble is as likely to grow as
a seed, if both lie side by side, on the surface. Is not this the
description of a mournfully large proportion of hearers of God's
truth? It never gets deeper than their ears, or, at the most, effects
a shallow lodgment on the surface of their minds. So many feet pass
along the path, and beat it into hardness, that the truth has no
chance to take root. Habitual indifference to the gospel, masked by an
utterly unmeaning and unreal acceptance of it, and by equally habitual
decorous attendance on its preaching, is the condition of a dreadfully
large proportion of church-goers. Their very familiarity with the
truth robs it of all penetrating power. They know all about it, as
they suppose; and so they listen to it as they would to the clank of a
mill-wheel to which they were accustomed, missing its noise if it
stops, and liking to be sent to sleep by its hum. Familiar truth often
lies 'bedridden in the dormitory of the soul, beside exploded errors.'
And what comes of this idle hearing, without acceptance or obedience?
Truth which is common, and which a man supposes himself to believe,
without having ever reflected on it, or let it influence conduct, is
sure to die out. If we do not turn our beliefs into practice they will
not long be our beliefs. Neglected impressions fade; the seed is only
safe when it is buried. There are flocks of hungry, sharp-eyed,
quick-flying thieves ready to pounce down on every exposed grain. So
Mark uses here again his favourite 'straightway' to express the swift
disappearance of the seed. As soon as the preacher's voice is silent,
or the book closed, the words are forgotten. The impression of a
gliding keel on a smooth lake is not more evanescent.
The distinct reference to Satan as the agent in removing the seed is
not to be passed by lightly. Christ's words about demons have been
emptied of meaning by the allegation that He was only accommodating
Himself to the superstition of the times, but no explanation of that
sort will do in this case. He surely commits Himself here to the
assertion of the existence and agency of Satan; and surely those who
profess to receive His words as the truth ought not to make light of
them, in reference to so solemn and awe-inspiring a revelation.
The seed gets rather farther on the road to fruit in the second case.
A thin surface of mould above a shelf of rock is like a forcing-house
in hot countries. The stone keeps the heat and stimulates growth. The
very thing that prevents deep rooting facilitates rapid shooting. The
green spikelets will be above ground there long before they show in
deeper soil. There would be many such hearers in the 'very great
multitude' on the shore, who were attracted, they scarcely knew why,
and were the more enthusiastic the less they understood the real scope
of Christ's teaching. The disciple who pressed forward with his
excited and unasked 'Master, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou
goest!' was one of such--well-meaning, perfectly sincere, warmly
affected, and completely unreliable. Lightly come is lightly go. When
such people forsake their fervent purposes, and turn their backs on
what they have been so eagerly pursuing, they are quite consistent;
for they are obeying the uppermost impulse in both cases, and, as they
were easily drawn to follow without consideration, they are easily
driven back with as little. The first taste of supposed good secured
their giddy-pated adhesion; the first taste of trouble ensures their
desertion. They are the same men acting in the same fashion at both
times. Two things are marked by our Lord as suspicious in such easily
won discipleship--its suddenness and its joyfulness. Feelings which
are so easily stirred are superficial. A puff of wind sets a shallow
pond in wavelets. Quick maturity means brief life and swift decay, as
every 'revival' shows. The more earnestly we believe in the
possibility of sudden conversions, the more we should remember this
warning, and make sure that, if they are sudden, they shall be
thorough, which they may be. The swiftness is not so suspicious if it
be not accompanied with the other doubtful characteristic--namely,
immediate joy. Joy is the result of true acceptance of the gospel; but
not the first result. Without consciousness of sin and apprehension of
judgment there is no conversion. We lay down no rules as to depth or
duration of the 'godly sorrow' which precedes all well-grounded 'joy
in the Lord'; but the Christianity which has taken a flying leap over
the valley of humiliation will scarcely reach a firm standing on the
rock. He who 'straightway with joy' receives the word, will
straightway, with equal precipitation, cast it away when the
difficulties and oppositions which meet all true discipleship begin to
develop themselves. Fair-weather crews will desert when storms begin
to blow.
The third sort of soil brings things still farther on before failure
comes. The seed is not only covered and germinating, but has actually
begun to be fruitful. The thorns are supposed to have been cut down,
but their roots have been left, and they grow faster than the wheat.
They take the 'goodness' out of the ground, and block out sun and air;
and so the stalks, which promised well, begin to get pale and droop,
and the half-formed ear comes to nothing, or, as the other version of
the parable has it, brings 'forth no fruit to perfection.' There are
two crops fighting for the upper hand on the one ground, and the
earlier possessor wins. The 'struggle for existence' ends with the
'survival of the fittest'; that is, of the worst, to which the natural
bent of the desires and inclinations of the unrenewed man is more
congenial. The 'cares of this world' and the 'deceitfulness of riches'
are but two sides of one thing. The poor man has cares; the rich man
has the illusions of his wealth. Both men agree in thinking that this
world's good is most desirable. The one is anxious because he has not
enough of it, or fears to lose what he has; the other man is full of
foolish confidence because he has much. Eager desires after creatural
good are common to both; and, what with the anxiety lest they lose,
and the self-satisfaction because they have, and the mouths watering
for the world's good, there is no force of will, nor warmth of love,
nor clearness of vision, left for better things. That is the history
of the fall of many a professing Christian, who never apostatises, and
keeps up a reputable appearance of godliness to the end; but the old
worldliness, which was cut down for a while, has sprung again in his
heart, and, by slow degrees, the word is 'choked'--a most expressive
picture of the silent, gradual dying-out of its power for want of sun
and air--and 'he' or 'it' 'becometh unfruitful,' relapsing from a
previous condition of fruit-bearing into sterility. No heart can
mature two crops. We must choose between God and Mammon--between the
word and the world.
There is nothing fixed or necessary in the faults of these three
classes, and they are not so much the characteristics of separate
types of men as evils common to all hearers, against which all have to
guard. They depend upon the will and affections much more than on
anything in temperament fixed and not to be got rid of. So there is no
reason why any one of the three should not become 'good soil': and it
is to be noted that the characteristic of that soil is simply that it
receives and grows the seed. Any heart that will, can do that; and
that is all that is needed. But to do it, there will have to be
diligent care, lest we fall into any of the evils pointed at in the
preceding parts of the parable, which are ever waiting to entrap us.
The true 'accepting' of the word requires that we shall not let it lie
on the surface of our minds, as in the case of the first; nor be
satisfied with its penetrating a little deeper and striking root in
our emotions, like the second, of whom it is said with such profound
truth, that they 'have no root in themselves,' their roots being only
in the superficial part of their being, and never going down to the
true central self; nor let competing desires grow up unchecked, like
the third; but cherish the 'word of the truth of the gospel' in our
deepest hearts, guard it against foes, let it rule there, and mould
all our conduct in conformity with its blessed principles. The true
Christian is he who can truly say, 'Thy word have I hid in mine
heart.' If we do, we shall be fruitful, because _it_ will bear fruit
in us. No man is obliged, by temperament or circumstances, to be
'wayside,' or 'stony,' or 'thorny' ground. Wherever a heart opens to
receive the gospel, and keeps it fast, there the increase will be
realised--not in equal measure in all, but in each according to
faithfulness and diligence. Mark arranges the various yields in
ascending scale, as if to teach our hopes and aims a growing
largeness, while Matthew orders them in the opposite fashion, as if to
teach that, while the hundredfold, which is possible for all, is best,
the smaller yield is accepted by the great Lord of the harvest, who
Himself not only sows the seed, but gives it its vitality, blesses its
springing, and rejoices to gather the wheat into His barn.