Alliterations abound anytime authors attempt attitudinal alignment against alluring assumptions, advancing astute academic arguments as alternative analysis.
Or so we will try with the letter I.
Imagine what human existence would be like without imagination. Yes, you can do it. In fact, we need not imagine too strenuously. Simply observe the daily life of all other animals and we can see how our human identity—what it means to be human—notably differs among all other creatures on earth. Imagination leads to the creation of life-enhancing innovation, artistic beauty, and scientific discovery, all human capabilities lacking in other animals.
Imagination also informs our notions of who we are, why we are here, and what we should be doing as we anticipate where we are going. If our imaginations align with a true reality, e.g., a correct worldview, then our imaginations will serve us well. But if we adopt a worldview contrary to true reality, what safeguards against a potentially harmful imagination can be expected?
We find in the world today some people who imagine themselves to be Napoleon, some who imagine themselves to be purposeless casualties of the Big Bang, and others who imagine themselves to possess a gender other than that evident at their birth. Each of these, and other likeminded people, have embraced identities based on imaginations believed to be aligned with a true reality. Can their imaginations be trusted?
The first step in determining the trustworthiness of imagination is to recognize only two options exist for the very presence of imagination. Either we humans exist as the current products of blind nature spewing matter—and only matter—from the Big Bang, or we are purposeful creations of an imaginative God who gifted us with certain of His attributes, including imagination. But a problem immediately arises: We must use our imagination to even consider the option between the two competing worldviews! Once again, can our imaginations be trusted?
We must dig deeper. Note that our imaginations do not produce thoughts like blank screens auto-filled with floating truth. Rather, our imaginations are instructed with our second alliterative “I”: information. We can only imagine a thing if we receive some information from which to form the imagination. We cannot imagine a color not known on the visible color spectrum without reference to known colors. We cannot imagine an animal that is not some form or combination of known animals. And certainly, no person imagined themselves to be Napoleon before Napoleon lived and died. Without information supplying the imagination, the imagination lies dormant.
But information alone cannot account for a correct imagination. Many rely on the same body of information to arrive at diametrically opposed imaginations about reality. For example, one person receives information relating to the complex coded building instructions contained in DNA and imagines the codes formed from Big Bang detritus flung into space without guidance or plan. Another considers the same information about the extensive coded software in the cell and immediately imagines the only scientifically rational inference: a creative mind capable of coding such instructions.
Likewise, one person receives information about gender evident at birth but decides to imagine that gender is a spectrum, open to private choice. This person’s identity, limited only by internally driven urgings, knows no gender boundaries and feels free to choose. Alternatively, another person in possession of the same information imagines gender to be bounded by scientifically discernable biological traits. Despite any internal urgings, this person’s identity, constrained by rationally evident attributes, willingly embraces the gender evident at birth. The same information leads to opposite gender identities; again, how can our imaginations be trusted?
Beyond information, another “I” in our alliterative analysis stands almost imperceptibly present but deceptively functioning to steer our imaginations one way or the other: inclination. The desire of our minds and hearts subtly warps information to draw our imaginations to a place of supposed truth about our identity. Inclination proves to be not only the most subtle effect on our imaginations, but the most consequential: Until inclination takes hold, imaginations can remain harmless. But our desires, the longings to which we incline our entire disposition in this life, take harmless imagination into a place of potential harm, our next alliterative “I”: ideas. Can we trust our inclinations?
Ideas acted on as beliefs take imagination into the consequence-laden world of reality. Simply imagining oneself to be Napoleon is harmless; identifying as Napoleon to others is different. Likewise, imagining that ultimate reality consists of matter alone is harmless, believing it as true reality opens one up to the harmful consequences of a supposed meaningless identity. Merely imagining a spectrum of genders to be selected at will may be harmless conjecture, but choosing to believe one’s body is a gender that differs from the gender evident at birth opens the door to reality-defying injury due to Orwellian-esque “gender-affirming care.” Can our ideas be trusted?
Imagination, information, inclination, and ideas—how can we trust our “I’s” to see our way to healthy beliefs about our identity?
The short but precisely accurate answer: We can’t trust our “I’s.” Our imagination cannot be trusted. And we simply cannot trust the information we rely upon which, together with our inclinations, leads us to ideas and beliefs. The very beliefs upon which we build our identity remain suspect when produced by our untrustworthy “I’s.” Our only hope lies in trusting the source of our “I’s.”
But what is the source of our “I’s”? Recall the two choices for explaining our imagination: Big Bang detritus or God-created gift. If it is true that imagination arose because some meaningless bits of matter from the Big Bang ended up inside us as imagination for no reason, then our quest for a healthy identity is equally meaningless. “Healthy beliefs about our identity” is a meaningless notion when all imagination-fueled beliefs are equal and equally meaningless. We exist destined to form beliefs based on whatever our imagination suggests and our desires demand. Our hope remains only in ourselves to navigate a purposeless existence as best we can.
But if God created the universe according to the Genesis account in the Bible, our hope rests in the one who created our imagination for our good and His glory. Imagination serves us well by submitting to the truth of reality as God revealed in His world and His word. Only by adhering to the true reality of God’s creation as informed by the Bible can our imagination be tamed to His design of meaningful identity. Like an anchor to our wandering and wavering inclinations otherwise, subjecting information to true reality holds our imagination in check. Hope, submitting, adhering, subjecting—these are terms of trust. And while we cannot trust our “I’s,” we must fully trust the one who gave us our “I’s.”
Am I inclined to believe I am Napoleon? God’s word says no, I am a unique creation of God. Do I believe I am a meaningless product of the Big Bang? God’s word says no, I am purposelessly made by God in His image. Do I believe I am a gender other than that evidenced at birth? God says no, I am fearfully and wonderfully made by Him as male or female to fulfill a role as such. In the face of any inclination to belief that our imagination can lead us, we can trust God to speak. To the extent we trust him and distrust our “I’s” we will experience a healthy identity.
But a word of caution. Even with an imagination governed by correct information about God and reality, our ideas remain particularly vulnerable to inclination, that is, desire. Adam and Eve lived in an environment closer to true reality than any humans ever will on earth. They walked and talked with their creator and exercised their imaginations based on His information, given to them personally in a garden designed for them to succeed. And yet, their imaginations tugged by desire got tripped up by a simple challenge to their trust: Did God really say …? In a brief moment all eternity changed because Adam and Eve failed to trust God and acted on a belief in opposition to true reality.
Is not the serpent’s question the source of all identity confusion today? Once his question enters our imagination, suddenly information becomes susceptible to distortion by the true inclination of our hearts, revealing an idea about a desired reality never far from us: we covet God’s identity. Do I desire to be Napoleon? Done; I trust myself as god, creating my own identity. Do I imagine a God-less explanation for my existence? Done; God-less does not mean god-less. Does my imagination desire a gender-fluid body? Done; god of mine that I am, who can deny me a creation in my image?
We can never fully escape the siren call of Did God really say …? For this reason, we must distrust our own imaginations and always cry out with the Psalmist, “Incline my heart to Your testimonies, and not to covetousness.” We must ask God to continually turn our hearts toward Him, and not toward selfish gain in the disguise of self-identity apart from God’s word. Moreover, as Christians we are instructed: Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
Did God really say? Yes, he did. And true reality about your identity does not change based on your imagination-driven, information-filled, inclination-urged ideas about it. True reality merely continues like gravity to those believing they can flap their arms and fly, gravity will always win.
God said it. That settles it. Trust Him alone.
(C) 2024 Creation Reformation. Roddy Bullock is the founder of Creation Reformation and author of several books related to creation and evolution. For more information, visit www.creationreformation.com, or visit (and follow!) us at Facebook.
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