In The Nick of Time

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, and Part 8.

A Biblical Example

In the last couple of essays we have distinguished the primary from the secondary imagination. We have also considered one example of the imagination being exercised, William Wordsworth’s “Composed Upon Westminster Bridge.” Now I would like to examine a biblical example of the imagination in action.

The Bible is full of imaginative literature (by imaginative I do not mean “made up,” but rather “literature that makes its appeal to the imagination”). Much of Scripture is cast in the form of stories. Several biblical books are devoted exclusively to poetry, and others employ poetic forms extensively in their composition. Parts of the Bible are apocalyptic, and whatever else apocalypses may do, they appeal to the imagination (specifically, the speculative fantasy).

If we want to discuss the use of the imagination in Scripture, we find ourselves nearly stymied by an embarrassment of riches. Where shall we turn? For the present discussion, I propose to select a work that is widely known and can be easily recalled. We shall discuss the Twenty-Third Psalm.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, and Part 7.

Secondary Imagination

The primary imagination enables us to look beyond the object of perception and to see other layers of significance in it. What each of us perceives in the object is personal and, therefore, different from the perceptions of everyone else. Sometimes our perceptions are sufficiently profound and out of the ordinary to convince us that we have gained some insight into the nature of the thing that we are observing and, consequently, into the nature of the world itself.

Once we have gained an insight, i.e., a significantly different way of seeing the world, we often experience the impulse to share it. Here we find ourselves confronted with a challenge because an imaginative insight cannot (properly speaking) be communicated. In this respect it is akin to an emotional state. When we experience joy, sorrow, or anger, we can communicate to other people that we are happy or sad or mad—but we cannot communicate the emotion itself. Since emotions cannot be communicated, they must be evoked. Something other than our statement of emotion is necessary if we wish other people actually to enter into the emotion and experience it for themselves.

So it is with the insights of the imagination. When we desire to share an insight, our goal is not simply to announce to the world that we have experienced a moment of truth. Our goal is to reproduce in others the same insight that we ourselves have experienced.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, and Part 6.

Speculative Fantasy and Primary Imagination

The simple fantasy is the power to envision realities that we have never encountered. The speculative fantasy is the power to envision things that never were and never will be. The speculative fantasy works in much the same way as the simple fantasy, i.e., by combining elements that are already present in the memory. By combining these elements, the mind creates new arrangements that exist nowhere outside of the fantasy itself.

Suppose we combine the following elements: body of a serpent, wings of a bat, legs and head of a lizard, size of a tree trunk. The result, of course, is a dragon. If we further combine the elements of fire and breath, we end up with a fire-breathing dragon, which is the best kind. Even if there are no dragons in the real world, we have no trouble imagining one.

The Bible sometimes requires us to employ the speculative fantasy. For example, Jotham’s fable in the book of Judges has trees meeting to elect a king. They reason, speak, and hold a council. This fable clearly combines elements that never occur together in the real world.

We have discussed two classifications of fantasy: simple and speculative. Many critics have seen fantasy as inferior to other forms of imagination. Indeed, some classify fantasy as a separate thing from imagination altogether. Some even believe that fantasy is detrimental.

What are their reasons? One is that fantasy creates nothing new, but simply recombines elements from memory. Another is that fantasy is sometimes used as a mechanism to escape reality, and therefore does not enlarge our understanding of the world.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5.

Memory and Simple Fantasy

The nature of the imagination has been discussed extensively by philosophers, poets, and critics. Since the Enlightenment, prominent thinkers in this conversation have included Thomas Hobbes (who divided the imagination into simple and compound), Joseph Addison (who differentiated primary from secondary pleasures of the imagination), common-sense philosopher Dugald Stewart (who distinguished the fancy from the imagination), William Wordsworth (who linked fancy to the temporal and imagination to the eternal), and Samuel Taylor Coleridge (who not only distinguished fancy from imagination, but divided imagination into primary and secondary faculties).

Why all of the discussion? The reason is that we ordinarily use the word imagination to cover several related but distinguishable operations of the mind. While the literature that discusses these operations tends to be rather opaque, we can perhaps review some obvious distinctions.

If we take the term imagination in its common, loose sense, it refers to our capacity to form and entertain mental images. We are able see objects with the mind’s eye that are not actually present to the sight. Under this definition, the most common form of imagination is simple memory. When we remember a thing, we are considering its image in our mind. We are inwardly re-calling its image into being.

Already in the act of remembering, disparities occur between individuals. Suppose three people see a snake. Later on, when they recall it, one remembers the snake’s position (it was wrapped around the limb of a tree). The second recalls its color (it was a vivid green with yellow markings). The third remembers its manner (it was showing its fangs and hissing—and the fangs were really big!). All three people are recalling the same snake, and they are all remembering it truly as far as their individual recollections are concerned. Nevertheless, they are all remembering the snake differently.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

Imagining the Transcendent

We have already emphasized the distinction between immanent reality (the here-and-now, sensible order) and transcendent reality (the eternal order that is outside of and above immanent reality). As Christians, we must be careful not to deny either the actual reality or the fundamental goodness of the immanent order. That is the error of Gnosticism. Nevertheless, we do deny its ultimacy. We recognize that the transcendent is prior to and above the immanent. If we wish to know the world as it ought to be known, then we must have at least a glimpse into the mind of God.

In order for us to get that glimpse, it must be given to us. It must come from God’s side. If God does not speak to us, then we shall forever remain ignorant of the eternal world, and consequently, we shall remain doomed to misconstrue the world in which we live.

Philosophers have asked certain questions about our dependence upon revelation. Is it possible for God to communicate with us? Is the eternal of such a nature that it can be grasped by human minds? Is human language even capable of bearing genuine revelation? These are important questions.

We need not speculate about the answers. We need merely to point to the Bible. The Bible is genuinely God’s message to us. It allows us to glimpse God’s mind and to discern enough of transcendent reality in order to let us understand immanent reality. For those who know and love God, there can be no questioning of the Bible’s authority.

Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

Postmodernity and the Demonic Imagination

Among conservatives, postmodernism is almost universally spoken of in derision. The derisive attitude is understandable, especially given the consequences of what postmodernity has produced. What conservatives sometimes fail to recognize, however, is the significant contribution that postmodernism has made in its critique of modernity.

The advantage of postmodernity is that it emphasizes the bankruptcy of the modern turn. Modernity progressively (the pun is deliberate) sacrificed the transcendent universe, then the moral universe, then the ordered universe. Without an ordered universe, of course, there is no universe at all. Whatever is “out there” can be construed in an indefinite variety of ways.

Far from bemoaning the postmodern criticism of modernity, I believe that we should applaud it. Modernity was an assertion of human arrogance and autonomy. It was based upon the pretence that the facts were clear in themselves and could be understood so as to produce truth transparently. Postmodernism reminds us that brute facts do not exist. Whenever an observer notices an object or event as a fact, that person has already, by the act of noticing, interpreted and assigned a value to it.

Postmoderns are right to insist that the only reality we know is interpreted reality. They are also right to insist that we always interpret reality from within our own situation, and that our interpretation of reality invariably reflects certain pre-interpretive commitments that we have made. In fact, as Christians we go even further along this line. We insist that every human, being depraved, has a pre-interpretive commitment to sin and idolatry. Faced with the facts, in our natural state we invariably construe them in such a way as to legitimate our treason against the Creator.

Read Part 1, Part 2.

Read Part 1.

Enter the Imagination

Picture yourself exiting a train that you boarded miles ago by mistake. You’re not sure where the train was going, so you don’t know what station you are in now. You only know that you are in a large city. The sign in the depot informs you that no other train will leave for days. You decide to rent a car so that you can find food and lodging. As you pull out of the parking garage, however, you discover that you are driving through a blizzard. The air is so full of snow that you can barely see the pavement in front of you. Occasionally a swirl will allow you to glimpse tall buildings or other features of the city. When you get close enough, you can sometimes spot a street sign, but the names are meaningless to you. In the meanwhile, the snow is piling up on the windshield and the glass is fogging over. Before you have driven half-a-mile, you are completely lost. You have no idea how to find your way.

This picture is a metaphor for the human condition. Our world is like the city. It is not merely a random collection of particulars, but an ordered system. If we could perceive the order, we would be in a position to get where we needed to go—assuming that we knew where that was. Our problem is that our senses are so bombarded with events and objects (i.e., with facts) that we are simply overwhelmed by the blizzard. This problem exists at three levels. First, the sheer number of facts is immense. Even a small room comprises more events and objects than we could take cognizance of in a lifetime. Second, our sensory apparatus (by which I mean not only the senses themselves, but our ability to register and relate facts) is limited and easily overwhelmed. It regularly shuts out most of what our senses do actually detect. Third, our ability to register and relate facts is directed, not by a neutral intellect, but by a will that determines in advance to arrange at least some facts in certain ways. In brief, we are caught in a blizzard with snow piling up on the windshield and the glass fogging over.

Somehow, what we need to do is to build up in our minds a map of immanent reality (“the city”) that will allow us to navigate its contours and, eventually, to leave it safely. This map will provide us with an internal image of the city. Such an internal image, if accurate, is capable of directing us even when our vision of the facts is largely obscured.

A variety of electronic periodicals reach my inbox regularly. One that arrives nearly every day is published by a retired seminary professor. Most days I derive a great deal of pleasure and often profit from glancing through his cogitations.

Today’s number, however, evoked a bit of concern. The dear fellow was reprinting some criticisms that he had received. Here is what they said.

The oft-repeated mantra coming out of Dr. Piper and Dr. Storms is that it is impossible for human beings to enjoy too much pleasure. We are made for pleasure, but it’s the pleasure of enjoying God. These guys are full-bore new evangelicals and Piper is a hard line Calvinist…. Why are you promoting this sort of thing?

While I can appreciate many things coming out of Dr. Piper’s ministry, are you endorsing such a leading New Evangelical with no disclaimer?…I am sure you do not endorse the New Evangelicalism that is Dr. Piper’s ministry, but when we simply laud a New Evangelical by attending his conference and praising it, that is the result at the practical level.

These responses are typical of the way that some Fundamentalists view conservative evangelicals in general. These men apparently divide all American Christians into only two categories: Fundamentalists and neo-evangelicals. If a Christian leader is not recognized as a Fundamentalist, then he is considered to be a new evangelical, with all the opprobrium that follows.

This binary system of classification is far too simplistic. American Christianity never has been neatly divided between new evangelicals and Fundamentalists. Other groups have always existed, and one of them is the group that we now designate as conservative evangelicals.