A Revival of High Beauty

How to Break That Old Morgul Magic: A Revised Essay for 2025

Introduction

I can hardly believe I wrote this a couple of years ago. What you’re about to read began as two separate reflections on Substack, but I’ve since combined them into one cohesive piece. The decision to do so is rooted in three key reasons.

• First, I believe this essay is even more relevant now than when I first wrote it. After yesterday’s Presidential Inauguration, many people are asking: “What do we do now? How can we change the course of what has been?” This essay offers a framework to start thinking about how to effect meaningful change in the world.

• Second, it sheds light on an often-overlooked truth: the world is constantly at war—not merely in a physical sense, but a metaphysical one. Time and Space engage in a perpetual struggle for manifestation. Space represents order, dry land, and stability; Time embodies chaos, floodwaters, and disorder. This cosmic battle is not a new concept. It has been reflected for millennia in mythology and, most profoundly, in the True Myth of the Bible. Yahweh’s victory over Leviathan is a declaration of space prevailing over chaos. Similarly, Marduk’s defeat of Tiamat in Babylonian myth reflects this archetype. My purpose here is to guide you in contemplating how space—order, stability, and flourishing—can prevail in our own time. We’ve experienced the “wheel of time” turning relentlessly over the past several years, plunging us into cycles of chaos and disorder. The question now is, how do we break free from that cycle? How do we create space for order and stability to take root once again?

• Lastly, I re-stacked and restructured bits and pieces of these essays over the past few weeks, spurred on by suggestions from readers. Many of you said, “This should be an essay!”—well, it was. You likely missed it unless you dug deep into my archive at The Narnian.

Given the renewed interest and its relevance, I’m re-sharing it for new subscribers to read with fresh eyes. Substack even recommended reposting it this morning. And since I’m at work today and unable to write something new, it felt like the perfect opportunity to revisit this reflection. Let’s dive in.

That Old Morgul Magic

To start, we must understand what has brought us to this point. Over time, I’ve come to see that the world we inhabit is no less infused with the grandeur of God than the world experienced by the biblical authors or our ancestors throughout history. What has shifted is not the nature of the world itself, but the narrative we’ve been told—and come to believe—about it. This shift in narrative has profoundly reshaped our ethics.

Imagine being told a story so powerful that it has the power to blind you to things right in front of you. Some would say that’s not a story, but a spell or black magic.

I believe something like this is what’s happened to us. The story of secular materialism that we were baptized into in school has blinded us to an enchanted, sacral world right in front of us. This story has changed the way we perceive reality. When we look at the same sun, moon, and stars that our ancient ancestors looked at, we do not see Rulers and Angels. We just see space rocks and balls of gas. We see the void.

When we feel the same wind that blew upon the world in the beginning, we don’t feel God’s Spirit. We just feel the wind.

The story of secular materialism has taught us how to effectively reduce things down to their material components and render them meaningless. It’s so natural and powerful that we don’t even know we’re doing it.

In some ways, it reminds me of Tolkien talking about the distinction between Primary and Secondary Worlds in his work On Fairy Stories. He wrote that enchantment produces Secondary Worlds in artistic purity to satisfy the senses. In contrast, magic produces altered, pretend versions of the Primary World out of the desire for power and to dominate the will.

“Enchantment produces a Secondary World, into which both designer and spectator can enter, to the satisfaction of their senses while they are inside; but in its purity it is artistic in desire and purpose. Magic produces, or pretends to produce, an alteration in the Primary World. It does not matter by whom it is said to be practised, fay or mortal, it remains distinct from the other two; it is not an art but a technique; its desire is power in this world, domination of things and wills.”

A similar notion is embedded in C.S. Lewis’s The Silver Chair. The protagonists, Eustace, Jill, Puddleglum, and Prince Rilian, encounter the Queen of Underland who enchants them into believing her realm is the sole reality. Puddleglum resists the enchantment, reminding everyone of the sun and Aslan. The Queen gradually convinces them that the sun and Aslan do not exist.

Of course, this is imaginative, but we must remember that imagination is a truth-bearing faculty. I believe that our ancient forebearers knew better and so did Tolkien and Lewis. I don’t believe they thought that stars were Angels, the sun and moon were Rulers, and the wind was God’s Spirit because they were ignorant. No. I believe they thought that because they were smart enough to know that something is more than its material parts.

Again, this notion comes up in Lewis’s “The Voyage of the Dawntreader.” There, Eustace, speaking to Ramandu — the star, says:

“In our world," said Eustace, "a star is a huge ball of flaming gas." [Ramandu responded] “Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is, but only what it is made of.”

The poet William Blake wrote of similar things in his day, saying:

“What,” it will be questioned. “When the Sun rises, do you not see a round Disk of fire somewhat like a Guinea?” O’ no, no. I see an Innumerable company of the Heavenly host crying ‘Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.”

This is why I say the world is still charged with the grandeur of God. God has not changed. The world has not changed. Our imaginative capacity to perceive the world in a real and meaningful way has changed. None dare call it Morgul Magic, but perhaps that’s exactly what it is. And, until we wake up from this magic, I suppose we’ll continue entertaining angels unawares more than at any other time in history.

A Revival of High Beauty

So, the question now becomes “How do we compel someone out of the dark magic of modernity to affect real change in the world? How do we become purveyors of space, order, and stability?”

I believe if you were to pose this question to The Inklings, they would tell us that the effort lies in persuading those ensnared by the evil enchantment of worldliness that there exists a far more captivating beauty for which they were designed. In essence, the task is to convey that a holiday at sea holds greater beauty than the mud pies in the slums. It's not a matter of our Lord deeming our yearning for beauty too strong; instead, He sees it as not strong enough.

We find ourselves drawn to the path of Sauron, characterized by power and progress because we struggle to envision life in a world marked by harmony with nature and one another. Likewise, our allure towards the path of the White Witch reflects this challenge. Much like Edmund's craving for Turkish Delight, we seek immediate gratification, unable to fathom that we were created to rule and reign as redeemed sons and daughters of Aslan.

We desire the mudpies in the slums because our desire for beauty is too weak. Sin has transformed us into bent ones who now love the wrong things. Or, as Saint Paul said, because of sin, we now worship the creation rather than the Creator who will be forever praised (Rom. 1:25-26).

Ultimately, beauty is the thing that compels people out of this enchantment. And, it must be said this isn’t something disconnected from God. We must remember that Christians since the beginning have said that beauty is something that lives, moves, and has its being in God. Beauty, because it participates in God, is also true and good. This is why it has the power to transform and reform our moral imaginations, and ultimately—the world. Where beauty is, truth and goodness are there too. In this intricate dance between these transcendentals, there exists a perichoretic relationship akin to the harmonious interplay of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Where beauty manifests, truth and goodness are inseparable companions. And where beauty manifests—space manifests, vanquishing the instable, chaotic powers of time. You cannot have beauty without stability, order, and space.

Lewis illustrates that it is ultimately beauty that shatters the enchantment of the Queen of the Underworld in "The Silver Chair." Notice how Puddleglum resists her enchantment.

"One word Ma'am, ... One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland."

Is it not the beauty, truth, and goodness inherent in aligning with Aslan that makes choosing the Queen's side a path to meaninglessness? Is it not the beauty, truth, and goodness found in living like a Narnian that renders existence in the Underworld repulsive? Is it not the beauty of the world outside of the cave that gives Puddleglum the courage to look the Queen in the face and say, “Darkness be damned, we’ll spend our lives looking for Overland?”

I think that it is.

I believe that Christians seeking to influence those captivated by the enchantments of our modern age must embark on a journey to restore a positive vision for the world and to cultivate the creation of beauty through meaningful works. Endless debates over what we oppose will not suffice. We need more than a sword to fight; we need a trowel to build. The pursuit of a renewed Christendom calls for a unified investment of our time, energy, and resources into constructive and ordered efforts, rather than an unceasing focus on dismantling our adversaries. Let us remember that time itself has the power to erode, and when we engage solely in tearing down, we risk embodying the very force that destroys, rather than the one that builds.

Historically, the church gave rise to the most eminent writers, poets, painters, sculptors, composers, architects, scientists, and philosophers the world has ever witnessed. There exists no valid rationale for this not to be the prevailing circumstance today. If we aim to unveil the ugliness of worldliness, the process commences with the rediscovery of the forgotten Christian art of crafting beautiful things. Through this revival of high beauty, we not only counterbalance the world with beauty, truth, and goodness but also usher in a Christian renaissance.

When those ensnared by the influence of That Old Morgul Magic encounter the more potent and captivating spell of beauty, they may inquire, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" To which our response can resoundingly be, "Come and see."