One of the first things said about the trees of the garden was (along with being good to eat) that they were pleasant to look at. God made trees not merely useful but beautiful. What useful value does it serve when my heart feels melty and wobbly over a floppy baby bunny? Maybe an evolutionary atheistic view reduces that to a survival advantage for the bunny. But I think it's part of the tang of an abundant *goodness*. That goodness is expressed in moral instruction in ten commandments, but everything is telling us to taste and see. I cried yesterday seeing the colors of the sky and the golden willows. What moral instruction does a particular shade of blue melting into pink contain? It whispers of a God who not only commands me to put on compassion for my neighbor but who meets all the nerve endings in my eyes with premonitions of joy.
We teach children wrongly if they do not learn that God's creative goodness made a panda to apparently sleep and eat bamboo and tug at our hearts as well as a hard working multi-talented animal like a horse. His goodness is so exuberant that there's room in the 'multi-color, multi-form' world for the fuzzy delight of Winnie the Pooh. Our human creativity mirrors His. Really our creativity only ever plays on the edges of His, celebrates a little bit of what was once spoken and will be. Sheer fun is one aspect of our playing. We diminish our worship of God if we say otherwise, and in doing so, diminish ourselves.
With respect to fantasy, nothing the human mind can hold up is as beautiful as the revelation of God in Christ. No other world created by human minds holds any being as powerful or wise or self-giving as God. But holding up these pictures shows us a little more vividly what our own reality is like -- impresses on us what it means that truth surpasses this. The imagination was made by and for God, to help us apprehend Him and love Him. It deals in things not visible to the senses. So the Bible turns to richly imagined, almost fairy tale language when speaking about the unseen, specifically the wonders of new creation -- from prophetic language about the cross, through to Revelation. The language of the moon turning to blood (used of the cross, Acts 2) describes unseen reality in a way that the statement 'Christ took my judgment' does not (though this statement is also vitally precious and important).
Eve's first sin was to doubt the goodness of God. And she sinned against what the trees were always declaring not just about his goodness meeting her in practical, useful ways, but delighting her every created capacity. Jesus spoke to us of how our Father lavishly clothes the flowers. He could have made them plain, and the world would still have been a moral, useful, instructive place. But He made them to delight even our human Saviour's senses. His least works whisper wonders of goodness. The precise design of by far most of the snowflakes that have ever fallen or will yet fall is invisible to us; and they fall only to melt. God makes this incredible pageant of beauty out of water, seemingly to great waste. Human creativity is engaged primarily in an endeavor to do the same, in His image. One is striving to create something that speaks of beauty, of the tang of a great goodness -- whether we taste it as a sense of huge loss, of present sweetness, of huge possibility -- and whether or not anyone sees or is changed. We can't help it. It's what we were made to desire, and the faith in which we keep trying to make something new from the rubble of the world.
I don't intend to argue this for I have such a fear of causing others to sin against their conscience -- if anyone wishes to contradict it, I'll let that stand. Our conscience should be convinced in God's goodness and presence. But I think we wrong Him by diminishing His goodness to a sort of useful-moral-instructionism.
Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.
The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang --can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.
The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf's billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
—An angel has no nerves.
Far richer they! I know the senses' witchery
Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.
C. S. Lewis