The mountains are ecstatic…None but…God know how to join so much beauty with so much horror.–Thomas Gray
We’re lost in it. We’re lost in a world of deep canyons, tangled forests, and high, craggy peaks. We’re lost in a maze of civilizations, modern and ancient. Our own edifices tower over us, not to mentions God’s.
Where are we? We’re specks at the base of the peaks. We’re ghostly images at the opening of the tombs. We’re stones gazing at the cosmos, at the pinpricks of light more massive than we are, light years away from us. We’re astronomers examining the images in heaven we can’t begin to comprehend.
We’re lost. The beauty of the world is horrible. With our senses, we expect to ascertain the world, but we can’t. We’re blind, deaf, dumb, w/o taste, and numb. The enlightenment woke us, then put us to sleep. The age painted our figures in its picturesque, diminished us, rendered us meaningless–as ghosts.
The world is not sublime when humanity disappears. The purpose of speculative fiction is to find humanity. I propose that Christian speculative authors begin to pay attention to their purpose. Stop preaching. Slide the figures into prominence, pull them from their obscure spots, repaint them so we can see, hear, feel them. Don’t give us oblivion. Give us truth.
How do authors write truth? I’ll repeat myself: Stop preaching. Slide the figures into prominence, pull them from their obscure spots, repaint them so we can see, hear, feel them.
Because in the daylight, the tomb is empty, and the ghost has escaped, reentered the world. And where will we find him?