In music, you can use metaphors with ease - if a person doesn't

Hear the words of Cat Stevens, a minstrel of the modern age, who declared: “In music, you can use metaphors with ease—if a person doesn’t understand the parable, they can still enjoy the melody of the music. If, however, a person reads a book and misses the meaning of its metaphors, this will be extremely disheartening for both the reader as well as the author.” In these words lies a deep truth about the nature of art, about how it is received, and about the many doors through which meaning may enter the soul. For Stevens reminds us that while music offers delight even to the unknowing, the written word demands comprehension, and when that is absent, both creator and seeker are left in sorrow.

The ancients themselves knew this difference. The lyre of Orpheus soothed even the stones and the beasts, who did not grasp the stories within his song but still melted before its power. Music speaks directly to the heart and the body; its melody carries truth even when its meaning is veiled. But the book, born of letters and crafted with careful symbols, asks for more. It requires the mind’s labor and the spirit’s patience. Without understanding, its beauty is lost, like a locked treasure chest whose key is missing. Thus Stevens draws a line between these two arts—both holy, yet each entering man by a different gate.

Consider the story of the parables of Christ, spoken two thousand years ago. When He said, “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed,” the crowd may not have grasped the fullness of the teaching, yet they could still feel the beauty of the image. His words sang like music, accessible at some level to all. Yet when a man reads the parable upon a page and cannot discern its metaphor, he is left in confusion, and the writer’s labor seems wasted. Stevens, wise in his art, understood that music cushions this gap—its sound gives pleasure even when the mind does not seize the deeper meaning.

The same truth is revealed in history by the poetry of Homer. His verses, when sung by bards, stirred the hearts of men who could not trace every metaphor of war and fate. They loved the rhythm, the sound, the rise and fall of the words. But later, when scholars wrote these stories into books, the task of understanding weighed heavier. A man who could not interpret the symbols felt excluded, as though the song were silenced. Thus, what Stevens speaks is not only modern but timeless: different forms of art carry their burdens differently, some forgiving of ignorance, others requiring depth.

What then is the lesson for us? That we must be attentive when we encounter art in words. We must not skim lightly, but dig deep into its metaphors, for there lies its treasure. A book, unlike music, will not give its reward to those unwilling to labor for meaning. But also, we must remember the mercy of music, which blesses even the unlearned. When the ear delights in melody, even if the mind does not grasp the parable, the soul is nourished. Both art forms are gifts, but they demand different attitudes from us—one of surrender, the other of study.

Practical wisdom follows: when you listen to music, let it wash over you, and if the parable escapes you, do not despair—for the melody itself is medicine. But when you read, do not be content with surface; pause, reflect, question. Ask yourself what the author hides within their symbols. Train yourself to look for the deeper light beneath the words. And if you are a creator, know well the nature of your art: if you write, guide your reader carefully; if you compose, trust the music to reach even the unknowing heart.

So let it be remembered: Stevens’ words are not a lament but a teaching. They show us that music and books are two different rivers flowing from the same mountain of truth—one rushing freely for all, the other demanding that we bend down to drink. Cherish both, honor both, and approach them as they ask: with open heart for melody, with disciplined mind for metaphor. Thus shall you receive the fullness of art, and walk away not disheartened, but enriched beyond measure.