Amid a culture of mounting climate existentialism and political unrest, in which political violence is normalized and the federal government works to roll back environmental regulations, it is difficult to recognize Octavia Butler’s 1993 novel Parable of the Sower as anything other than prophetic.
Butler wrote Parable against a backdrop of climate anxiety and what she calls “modern-day slavery,” or the increasingly prevalent corporate trend towards disposable labor without benefits for the workers. She utilized science fiction to explicitly name societal ills, and to expand representation of the full lives of the oppressed, effectively writing in order to catalog her own humanity in the annals of literary history. Butler explained, “I wrote myself in, since I’m me and I’m here and I’m writing. I can write my own stories and I can write myself in.” If her work is a representation of a worst-case scenario — a reflection of failing systems and a culture of exploitation — it is also a declaration of the power reclaimed in forging community from hardship.
The novel follows protagonist Lauren Olamina, a 15-year-old preacher’s daughter living in the throes of climate change. Olamina’s middle-class family lives in a walled-in cul-de-sac, protected from the chaos that has arisen from the collapse of social infrastructure due to global warming. The surrounding community is scarred by a massive housing crisis, where the only way to accumulate power is through violence. A global food and water shortage compounds wealth inequality. And President Donner’s economic policies, which attempt to boost employment, alienate workers from their product and from each other. Parable of the Sower cleverly emphasizes what Butler sees as the hypocrisy of U.S. regulatory policies that claim to protect civilians’ freedom, in order to illustrate their destructive and dehumanizing nature.
In addition to its critical tone, Parable contains strong spiritual themes. The novel’s title refers to a biblical story of the same name, which cautions against the ways divine tools may be misappropriated depending on intent. Whether it’s the perennial debate over abortion access or the implementation of scriptural readings in public schools, there is much to be said about the politicization of religious teachings in tumultuous times. Under the Trump administration, pro-natalist policies, such as investing in “baby bonuses” and menstrual classes, are inescapably linked to anti-abortion, family-first sentiments and exclude those that don’t conform to traditional gender roles. In fact, there has been a growing religious split among Gen Z along gender lines: as the percentage of men aged 18-29 identifying with a specific religion has continued to rise since 2016-2017, the religious affiliation among young women during the same period has consistently fallen. At the same time, Gen Z women are more involved in politics and identify as more liberal in comparison with their male counterparts.
So, what is responsible for this disparity? While it can’t be boiled down to one issue, social media undeniably bolsters the proliferation of violent and radicalizing language, which often seeks to dehumanize people of marginalized racial, gender, or ethnic backgrounds.
While Parable doesn’t contend with the complexities and omnipresence of internet life, it interrogates how incompetent regulatory structures can exacerbate identity divides among marginalized communities. As late-stage capitalism instills a dog-eat-dog mentality, in which money and brute force are the only protection against eco-disaster, Butler posits spiritual connection, rather than religious moralism, as a potentially re-humanizing force.
Lauren is afflicted with a condition called “hyperempathy,” in which she can directly feel the sensations of pain and gratification of those she observes. Her experience of the world, outlined in the diary entries that compose the book, is inextricably in conversation with the experiences of others, encapsulating just how unbearable it can feel to be aware of the various injustices and suffering permeating society.
When Lauren’s younger brother Keith ventures outside of their gated community, he warns that if Lauren were to do so, she would be fatally struck down by her own hyperempathy. In bearing witness to the pervasive and sometimes drug-fueled violence, she would experience their wounds as her own.
Keith is tortured and killed in a presumed drug deal gone awry. His death serves as a turning point in the book, a symptom of the desensitization to violence arising from a political ecosystem that deprioritizes its citizens’ quality of life.
In her grief, Lauren turns to spirituality as a tool for enlightenment and self-empowerment. She writes “Earthseed: The Book of the Living,” a scripture tethered to the idea that “God is change” — essentially conceptualizing God as a reflection of humanity. By shattering the spiritual hierarchy of traditional organized religion, “Earthseed” lends humanity divine weight, shaping God in its image. The inception of “Earthseed” is a manifestation of hope, and an avenue for Lauren to forge a community defiant to fear and isolation: after all, why build a community driven to make change if humanity isn’t worth saving?
“The Parable of the Sower,” found in Matthew 13:22-23, says:
“The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful. But the seed falling on good soil refers to someone who hears the word and understands it.”
Butler invokes “The Parable of the Sower” to warn of what will happen if her story falls on deaf ears. Just a cursory glance at the headlines of any major news organization suggests that her novel may have been more prophecy than cautionary tale. If we are living in a future that Butler imagined, it is one that must allow hope to take root in order to usher change.
Throughout Parable, Butler makes a case for the importance of empathy in sustaining survival. She imbues humanity’s actions with spiritual and existential significance, thereby identifying emotional vulnerability and connection as foremost tools to fight against complacency in the face of disaster. And, in a world where “parental choice” in education is leveraged to censor the history and stories of marginalized communities, and Parable of the Sower itself is banned in many classrooms, her work embodies the necessary skill of holding hard truths alongside unrelenting, uncynical, even divine hope.
