When we piece together the puzzle of humanity, where does imagination fit? Is it something like an anonymous piece of sky or ocean, that is turned and turned in our hands, only to be slammed into place somewhere in background, or, worse still, abandoned in the box? Or if the Fall is something like a shipwreck, is imagination simply left adrift, while everything else we call human is gathered in the rafts?
Though we have had our share of imaginative geniuses, of poets and composers, of novelists, sculptors, and painters, as well as creative entrepreneurs, explorers, politicians, and policy makers, the Church, it seems, has not really answered the question of the imagination. In the unfolding drama of the church age, it seems the imagination has most often been cast as the villain or the fool, as Shylock or Falstaff. In which case, the imagination is something either to be repressed, restrained, even incarcerated, or perhaps endured, tolerated, or perhaps occasionally enjoyed. It seems we almost never ask what the shape of a Spirit-fueled imagination might be.
By contrast, we think we know what redeemed reason looks like, and for many it is reason alone that has remained untainted by the Fall. But when you take Creation seriously, that it is good, and Ah, very good, then you must take the Fall just as seriously. Nothing that makes up a person, not reason, not the will, not the mind, not the heart, not the imagination, emerged unscathed from the Fall. The Fall is merciless–its stain is pervasive.
And I have known its stain. When I think about how I daily use my imagination, I am ashamed. When fueled by pride my imagination weaves tales of power and conquest. By way of daydreams, I come to inhabit something like a fairy-tale world of infinite wealth and affirmation, where I am the victor, the hero, the king, and the conqueror. When fueled by fear my imagination betrays me. I become an exile in a wasteland where health slips away, friends disappear, family dies, and love withers. Peopled with swindlers and killers, cheats and liars, the fear-fueled imagination becomes a sort of prison in my own mind. This not to mention the lust fueled imagination turning its tricks in my heart.
But even more I have known redemption. Knowing the darkness of my own imagination on one hand, and my desire to serve the Church with a sanctified imagination on the other, over the next few posts I want to wrestle with the question of the Christian imagination. What would does a Spirit-fueled imagination look like? What sorts of things does it produce? Or to use Wolter’s language, what was the original “creational goodness” of the imagination? What was its structure? And how might it be regained and outpaced in redemption?
I for one am excited to hear this explored.
I love this, Christopher. It really makes me think. My imagination is both prideful and fearful. I want to escape into my daydreams and forget all the bad that could happen. This is a lie in itself. Because I have a savior who guards me with his shade and brings me into the promised land. He keeps me from harm and makes me a confident but humble warior- he saves me from fear and pride!