As we come to the end of the modern world, the community here at the Symbolic World is working to plant and cultivate the seeds of renewal. Ultimately, the rebirth of a symbolic — or sacramental — vision and culture must include the renewal of education. We cannot continue to (de)form our children in the pedagogy of modernism and still hope to participate in the restoration of meaning. We will have entered into the new world only when the next generation naturally perceives the Goodness, Truth, and Beauty of Creation because they have been formed from birth in the patterns of the Logos. 

We know what such an education looks like, because our fathers spent centuries carefully developing the Christian classical paideia that built and sustained our civilization until the 19th century. Those of us in the classical renewal movement are hard at work to preserve and restore this knowledge and practice. 

Common to both Christian classical education and the work of the Symbolic World is the renewal of the sacred imagination. In The Republic, a foundational text for classical education, Plato argued that children must first be trained in gymnastics, music, poetry, and story so the soul will be formed in the patterns of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty even before reason is capable of comprehending them. In other words, Plato recognized that the work of the imagination precedes the work of reason, for the imagination is the lens by which we perceive the meaning of the world, and just as with the body, that faculty must be nourished and trained. 

As co-founder and Head of Vine Classical Hall, I addressed our graduates this year on the essential role of imagination in responding to the meaning crisis of modernity. After several requests to share a printed copy of the address, I offer an expanded version here for the benefit of both Symbolic World and my community in classical education with the hopes that these two important movements will nourish one another in the years to come. 

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This year our seniors and I have been reading through the plays and poetry of Shakespeare. Throughout our class, we looked carefully at the power of words to create. Just as God our Father spoke the whole cosmos into existence through His Word, so we too, made in the Image of God, create new realities through the power of our words. 

Through our conversations we bring friendships into being; with our contracts we create institutions; we the people in order to form a more perfect union build whole governments out of mere words! As Dumbledore reminds us, “Words are our most inexhaustible source of magic.” 

By our vows we join man and woman as one; with our words we wound or heal, bless or curse, make war or peace, even create entire new worlds like Narnia or Middle Earth — places and stories that become more real and familiar to us than the actual cities of Africa or historical events in Asia. 

And as the critic Harold Bloom argued, with mere strokes of his feathered pen, Shakespeare created characters so real that Hamlet, Macbeth, and Lear seem to have stepped off the stage and entered into the real course of history. 

Imagination as Perception 

This God-given power of words comes to us through imagination. There is no language or meaning without the symbols and images and metaphors that the imagination connects to our mere written or spoken words. 

In our disenchanted, modern culture, we tend to think of the imagination as that part of us which makes up false things — we think of imagination as mere fancy — but the older, truer understanding of imagination that we see in Augustine, Aquinas, Coleridge, Tolkien, and Lewis is much richer than that. For the Christian, the imagination is first of all that faculty of the soul by which we perceive the meaning of the world. 

C.S. Lewis’s friend and fellow Inkling, Owen Barfield argued in his book Poetic Diction that “the mind is never aware of a thing or idea until the imagination has been at work on the bare material given by the senses.... Only by imagination can the world be known.” The imagination is that mental faculty that mediates between the senses and the intellect by putting our raw sensory experience into a form which the intellect can understand and act on.

Let me illustrate; right now you are sitting in a large room full of sensory data. If you think about everything you see in this room as a huge collection of tiny pixels, you can start to perceive the imagination at work. When you see this podium, the door window, those ferns, that is because your imagination has gathered and organized the raw data, the chaotic field of pixelated input, into intelligible images. These identifiable forms become the basis of all thinking. 

This work of the imagination is not arbitrary. The imagination does not simply impose a meaning and order on the world, as the postmodern nihilists would argue; the imagination perceives the order and meaning that is there. You see the window as window because the window is there. You know the window as a metaphor for insight into other worlds because that meaning is there in the thing itself. 

In his essay “Imagination: Its Functions and Culture,” George MacDonald describes this process by which the imagination perceives the meaning of the world and forms the images of nature into the structures of thought. He invites us to imagine a man roused by love for a beautiful woman. Made in the image of a thinking, creative, relational God, the man wants to articulate and communicate that love. It is anguish to leave his love unexpressed, unborn through the womb of language. He searches for a way to name and share this inward reality. “Gazing about him in pain,” so MacDonald imagines, “he suddenly beholds the material form of his immaterial condition. There stands his thought! God thought it before him, and put its picture there ready for him when he wanted it.” Perhaps he sees a rose or other flower. Its lovely sweetness matches the feeling within and serves as a way to express the thought within: “O my love is like a red, red rose,” the lover writes.

“Or, to express the thing more prosaically,” MacDonald continues, “the man cannot look around him long without perceiving some form, aspect, or movement of nature, some relation between its forms, or between such and himself which resembles the state or motion within him. This he seizes as the symbol, as the garment or body of his invisible thought, presents it to his friend, and his friend understands him.”

MacDonald insists that the lover does not impose this meaning onto the rose. “What springs there is the perception that this or that form is already an expression of this or that phase of thought or of feeling. For the world around him is an outward figuration of the condition of his mind; an inexhaustible storehouse of forms whence he may choose exponents — the crystal pitchers that shall protect his thought and not need to be broken that the light may break forth. The meanings are in those forms already, else they could be no garment of unveiling. God has made the world that it should thus serve his creature.” In other words, the Logos of God meaningfully formed the world so as to reflect the image of the Logos in man. Communication is possible only because divine meaning permeates both the macrocosm of the world and the microcosm of man. 

MacDonald goes on: “For the world is — allow us the homely figure — the human being turned inside out. All that moves in the mind is symbolized in Nature. Or, to use another more philosophical, and certainly not less poetic figure, the world is a sensuous analysis of humanity, and hence an inexhaustible wardrobe for the clothing of human thought. Take any word expressive of emotion — take the word emotion itself — and you will find that its primary meaning is of the outer world. In the swaying of the woods, in the unrest of the ‘wavy plain,’ the imagination saw the picture of a well-known condition of the human mind; and hence the word emotion.”

Christ the Logos — the one who created all things, who orders all things, and in whom all things hold together — He has formed the world in intelligible, meaningful ways. The roses speak to us of love and beauty, the wind and waves reveal our own inner movements, the skies proclaim the infinite glory of God, the sun his blazing and unbearable holiness. We do not make up the meaning of things; the Spirit reveals meaning to those who have eyes to see and ears to hear. 

Imagination as Creation

So first of all, imagination is that faculty of the soul by which we perceive the meaning of the world. But secondly, the imagination is also that faculty by which we can combine images and re-order forms to create new things and new ideas. 

Through the primary power of imagination, the child sees and identifies a fallen branch on the ground; through the secondary power of imagination, the child combines the idea of a sword with the branch in his hands and gallops off to conquer new imaginary lands. 

As J.R.R. Tolkien argues in On Fairy-stories, we are inevitably sub-creators. “Made in the image and likeness of a Maker,” we too form new ideas and create new things, not ex nihilo, but “in our own derivative mode,” using the things God has made as building blocks for our own secondary creations. 

The Fallen Imagination

But this freedom to create which is part of the Imago Dei in us, is also a freedom to distort and destroy. When the imagination works rightly, we perceive the real meaning and order of the world and we make tools and art that reflect and magnify the Goodness, Truth, and Beauty of God’s creation. But when driven by our sinful flesh, the imagination can err in its perception and we can use our creative capacity to twist the meaning of the world — to picture reality in distorted ways and to create that which harms and destroys.

One good way to understand the modern culture we now live in is as a world shaped and permeated by a twisted, profane imagination. Where God would have us see the Imago Dei, the very image and glory of God in the face of our neighbor, we look and see an evolved primate or a social competitor. Where God would have us see the trees as great images of righteousness, we look and see a resource to be harvested or an obstacle in our way. Where God would have us see the mountains as the place of Sinai’s sacred communion, we look and see a peak to be conquered. Where God would have us see children as the blessing of heaven, many look and see burden to be avoided. 

And we not only imagine good things as evil; we also imagine evil things as good. We see sexual perversion as spiritual liberation and a source of special insight. We imagine looting and rioting as an exercise in social justice. We see the murder of unborn children as health care and women’s liberation. The modern imagination is now turned almost completely upside down and inside out. 

The Redeemed Imagination

If the fall ruined how we imagine the world, then our redemption will mean the restoration of how we imagine the world. To live wisely and with virtue in the 21st century, our distorted, profane imagination must be transformed into a sacred imagination. As fallen creatures, we naturally look at things through the mind of sinful flesh, but as Paul commands us in 1 Corinthians 5, we can now look at things through the mind of Christ. This shift, by God’s grace, happens in the imagination, through the way we picture the meaning of the world. 

In the commentary to his painting, A Vision of the Last Judgment , painter and poet William Blake illustrates the difference between the profane modern imagination and the redeemed sacred imagination: “‘What,’ it will be Question’d, ‘when the sun rises, do you not see a round disk of fire somewhat like a Guinea?’ O no, no, I see an Innumerable company of the Heavenly host crying, Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.” 

The corrupted imagination can reduce the world to mere quantity and measurable fact, but it is also the power to perceive divine presences and the faculty by which we can experience transformation. It is the space of mental possibility where our vision of the world can be changed for evil but also for good. 

In his poem, The Elixir, Anglican priest George Herbert describes this real, transformative power of imagination; he writes,

Teach me, my God and King,
In all things Thee to see,
And what I do in anything
To do it as for Thee.
...
A man that looks on glass,
On it may stay his eye;
Or if he pleaseth, through it pass,
And then the heav’n espy.

Herbert shows us that, by grace, we can choose what we see. We can focus on the immediate surface of things and see only the dust and cracks on the window pane of the world; or we can look through the porous window of Creation and behold the divine light and life that animates it. We can sit in Plato’s cave and play with shadows, or we can lift the eyes of our heart up toward heaven to see the solid, shining forms of real spiritual things; the love of God, the forgiveness of Christ, the hope of resurrection, the sheer gift of being alive. We will get what we focus on. We will become what we behold. See only the dust of earth and such dust we will become. See the world as a vessel of glory, and glorified we will become. 

In my classes here at Vine Classical Hall, I have labored and prayed to give you a rich, expansive, true vision of the world and of Christ, the Logos; the Light of the World — the one who guides the history of the world, the one in whom all ideas cohere, the one whom all true speech reveals. In other words, I have tried to form in you a sacred imagination. But you are leaving us now, moving on from this little counter-cultural community at Vine to live in a world framed by the profane, corrupted imagination — a world stripped bare, where foot cannot feel, being shod. 

We live in a moment of cultural collapse and the field of life will come at you in confused, distorted, and darkened forms. You will be tempted to see the worst in things, to see only the evil and sorrow of the world, and to doubt the presence and goodness of God. You will be tempted to look on the glass and stay your eye; to see the world as merely raw matter, something meaningless to be used for your own practical gain. 

To live well amidst these shadows of Mordor will require you to exercise an active, redemptive imagination. To see the world as it was made to be seen, to see your neighbor in the image of Christ, to take the ruins around you and build something beautiful, to create new ways of living and working that can help us recover our lost humanity — all this will require a great deal of sacred imagination.

As you move on in the world, into college, work, and the joy of building your own families, I offer three exhortations for building and strengthening your imagination: 

First of all, pay attention. Learn to pause and consider how you are picturing the world, how you are framing the story and meaning of things in your own mind. Pray: Lord, do I see this person or circumstance as it truly is? For example, right now you are probably thinking about your future. Are you paying conscious attention to the way you imagine what the future looks like? Do you imagine the future as a big black void? Do you imagine the future as a series of inevitable conflicts and discouragements? Or do you imagine the future more as it truly is, a space filled by the love and grace and power of God, a road of adventure with your hero-king Jesus Christ to guide and never leave you? 

We are responsible to God for the way we imagine His world. In the Anglican church we confess each Sunday the ways we have sinned against God “in thought, word, and deed.” In Romans 12, Paul commands us to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. Therefore, resolve to pay attention to how you imagine the future, yourself, your friendships, your family, and your work. Where you see that you are imagining and picturing these things in darkened ways, pray the Holy Spirit to give you heavenly ways of seeing the world. You will face challenges and hardships and sorrows, but the way that you perceive the meaning of those things will make all the difference. 

Secondly, feed your imagination. The imagination is equipped by the experiences and stories and images you give it. As with your body, your imagination will become that which you feed it. You cannot fill your mind with profane, twisted forms and expect to see the world rightly or have the power of a sanctified imagination when you need it. 

While you have been home educated, your parents and teachers have done their best to feed your mind well, but now you must take that responsibility upon yourself. Keep reading old books, good stories, and great poetry. Fill your home with art and listen to good music. Stay off the deformed screen-spaces as much as possible. And above all, feed your mind with the powerful truths, images, and stories of Scripture. Fill the palace of your mind with beautiful furniture, sturdy and lovely, useful and ready for the adventures to come. 

And go experience the world! Feed your imagination with the forms of Creation, the things God Himself has made — trees, bugs, sheep, gullies, rivers, ridges, skies, and stars. The closer you are to the things God has shaped with his own hand, the more your imagination is shaped in truth. Get your hands dirty, learn every skill you can, handle manual tools, travel and explore, go stand near the edge of the sea and “hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.” 

Thirdly, use your Imagination: Make things, for you were made in the image of the Maker, and like a muscle, the imagination grows stronger and more effective as you exercise it. To stay alive, the body must move and the imagination must make — so move and make for good. 

Keep a small journal in your pocket and write poetry, even if it is bad poetry no one will read, for poetry — to name the world God has made — is the first gift and calling given to man. Poetry is simply the art of making words; it is the practice of giving language to our experience of the world. We do this every day, and what we cannot help but do, let us do it to the glory of God, intentionally and with as much skill as we can. 

Keep your childhood habit of drawing, for by it we gather our fragmented attention and better see the things of our world. Create sacred, beautiful spaces in your home and community, places for prayer and respite from the brutalist world of concrete pragmatism. Don’t buy that cake, bake one. Plan and plant a flower garden. Build shelves for your closet. Make conversation with others, don’t expect it from them. Use your active imagination intentionally, to make beauty, to create friendship, to renew the world. 

For better or for worse, it is in the power of the imagination that we are most God-like — bringing things, institutions, relationships, and even whole worlds into being. As Shakespeare says in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 

Imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name

As you graduate and move out into the wider world, use your imagination to body forth love and grace and hope, turning them to shapes and forms previously unknown. Imagine ways to give goodness, truth, and beauty a local habitation and a name. 

Your imagination is always at work, perceiving the world around you, giving form to ideas, and creating new things. The question is not if you will use your imagination but whether or not you will use it well.