Back in 2020 I wrote a series I called “Sanctified Imagination,” which was all about not just the acceptability of using the imagination in the life of faith, but the importance and even necessity of doing so. I felt so strongly about it that I reposted the series intact in 2023. As I wrote in my introductory post to that series: “I have come to believe that imagination — specifically, a holy, sacred, or sanctified imagination — is one of the greatest tools at our disposal to build resilience, faith, and that most elusive of all virtues, hope.” But despite this, I still have what feels like the weight of the Christian tradition whispering in my ear that what is imaginary is false, and therefore dangerous, and that the last thing we should do with our faith is to “play pretend.” So as I start this new series about using practices that focus on images, symbols, and the inner life as a way of getting more in touch with our soul (or heart or spirit or Self or whatever word you prefer), it feels important to defend this approach against the more skeptical parts of the tradition.
There are three claims of this I’d like to touch on today: 1. that such imaginative practices are foreign to the Christian tradition; 2. that they lead us away from sound doctrine and into delusion; and 3. they are a form of escapism that takes our attention away from what is happening here and now.
The first claim is actually pretty out there, but it is one we hear. So to address it: The Scriptures are filled with accounts of visions and dreams, prophecy and parables. There’s Jacob’s vision of the ladder reaching up into heaven, Joseph’s dreams, Isaiah and the book of Daniel’s visions of the heavenly throne, the prophetic dreams of the magi and Joseph in the nativity story, Paul’s vision on the road to Damascus and his recounting of a mystical journey into the third heaven, the visions of Peter and Cornelius in Acts 10, and the apocalyptic visions of the Day of the Lord of people like Joel and John. And on and on and on!
Now, one may argue that prophecy and visions are not the same as using our imagination, but it seems clear that they are using the same mental faculty, engaging with images of things that are not being encountered in the ‘real world’ by our senses. As it happens, this connection between imagination, dreams, and prophecy is the traditional teaching in Judaism, taught but such important figures as Maimonides and Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav. At any rate, beyond the Scriptures, we also have the examples of holy visionaries like Julian of Norwich, Hildegard of Bingen, Teresa of Avila, and John of the Cross (for all his grumpiness about such experiences). We also have imaginative Scripture-reading practices like St. Ignatius Loyola’s Gospel Contemplation, the individual encounter at the centre of Pentecostal hermeneutics, and Black and Liberation theologians’ use of the Scriptures to imagine and promote a better, more sanctified world. The imagination is simply everywhere we look in our tradition.
To the second claim, that the imagination can lead us astray, I’d simply say that so can our intellects, our senses, our instincts, and pretty much any other human faculty. In fact, I’d say that, between the theologians and the mystics, it’s been the former that’s caused the most trouble for the faith over the centuries! To me this argument is like arguing that because North Americans eat too much fat, sugar, and salt, these things should be excised from our diets completely. Not only is it impossible to do this, but we’d also die if we succeeded! We need fat, sugar, and salt in moderation to live. The answer isn’t to avoid them but for them to be consumed in the context of a full, balanced diet. In the same way, we need to undertake imaginative practices within the context of a balanced spiritual diet of corporate and private prayer, Scripture and theological reading, and a trusted community of the faithful. The analogy even extends to the point that the least ‘healthy’ stuff for us is going to be that which is the most ‘refined’ and ‘processed’, such that it attracts our appetite but offers little in actual nutrition! Just as the answer to an unhealthy diet isn’t to starve ourselves, so too is the answer to the possibility that the imagination may lead us astray not to starve our souls.
Finally there’s the claim that imaginative practices are a form of escapism and take us out of the real world. I reflected on this quite a bit in that old series, so I’ll let 2020-me cover that:
First, to be used healthily, our hope for the future must be linked to present action. Remember, Dr. King didn’t just sit around dreaming, but advocated for the “direct action” of strikes, marches, and sit-ins. In the same way, if we long for a quest, we need to take the attitude we’d bring to that adventure into our boring office job; if we long for a satisfying relationship, we need to be the person we would be in that relationship in our interactions with our friends, colleagues, and cashiers. Dreaming of a better tomorrow is wonderful and powerful, but if it isn’t going to be an exercise in delusion, futility, and frustration, we need to use those dreams to inform how we act today.
Second, when we talk about ‘resistance’ we have to make sure what we’re resisting isn’t the Truth. Resisting oppression cannot be resisting the truth that oppression exists. Resisting despair doesn’t mean denying the things that aren’t right in the world. Our lives are what they are and we need to accept them as they are, forgive them for being as they are, bless them as they are, and give thanks to them as they are. This isn’t easy — there are literally entire religions built on trying to achieve this. It will remain an elusive goal for all of us. But that doesn’t make it any less important. Our hopes and dreams for a better life or better world are not excuses for us to deny or reject the truth of what is actually happening around us.
And third, we need to recognize that the world isn’t all about us. We may be the main character in our own story, but we aren’t the main character in others’ stories. This means that we can’t cling to outcomes because so much is out of our control. We can hope for racial reconciliation, and protest all we want, but if hearts and minds aren’t changed, it will only take us so far. We can hope for good relationships, and be our best selves on dates, but that doesn’t guarantee we’re going to meet someone who wants to buy what we’re selling (so to speak). The Spirit can move our sanctified imagination to a particular interpretation of Scripture, but that doesn’t mean that’s what the passage is about for everyone. We’re each of us just small pieces — beautiful and beloved pieces, but small pieces nonetheless — of a vast and complicated whole. The world isn’t about us.
In a way, we can say about all of these points what we said about personalized interpretations of Scripture earlier in this series. Our personal hopes and dreams have to be integrated into the bigger picture of our life, our faith tradition, broader society, and the world. And this means that if we want to be healthy and whole, we can only cling to what is good, true, and beautiful within our hopes and dreams and not to any particular outcome. To use language we used often in the Knowing God series, our imaginations are not the territory, and they may not even be a map, but they can be like photographs of the territory that can help us know when we’ve found it. And in a messy and hurting world, we need all of the help we can get to find our bearings.
With these considerations firmly in mind, then, I hope we all embrace the power of our sanctified imaginations to help us to live faithful lives: by generating new symbolic connections that help us better understand our world and faith, by helping us see new and better ways of living in the world, by offering us hope and resilience in the face of despair and suffering, and by reminding us that God is not distant but is here with us, “everywhere present and filling all things.”
Come, let us imagine together.
(Thanks, 2020-me!) And I think that sums it up as well as I can. Next time, we’ll get into the practices themselves.
Matthew Root 