It should seem no coincidence that this saint should chose to grace us with his day in which to publish the humble book of fantastic tales. They take place in a world without a sun, signified by the eclipse in which he had his vision.
I am honored that Castalia House has selected my works for publication. The intent of this and all my works is not to subvert the readership by sneaking in messages of sly sarcasm and temptations to folly. My purpose is superversive. I wish to show that even in the darkest world and deepest despair, there is an inextinguishable light.
This is the quintessential description of my purpose in defining the sublime aesthetic. I’ve illustrated my definition in what was, I think, a concise little parable. Given my dedication to the church at large and my oft-restated belief that we have only decades before Eliot’s big wave crests, my grand strategy ought to be reproducible with a little abstract thought.
It is clear that paganism is the “ordered aestheticism”, which should arise from nihilistic sensationalism. As the next generations enter into a long, long period of pagan darkness, I want to preserve many small places within the world where they can glimpse the light. That way, they’ll know it exists, and hopefully become entranced and seek it out for themselves.
I’ve been picked for an ambitious game here. It’s bigger than me. But I believe this is the task given to me by Jesus. And who am I? A mid-witted loser and undisciplined Christian, truth be told. But I know my Bible. Anything is possible for the Lord. These stories always go the same way, so I might as well have faith and avoid all that extra trouble.
But it’s never fun to be alone. That’s why it’s nice to see that several others are coming to precisely the same conclusions at around the same time. I enjoy the company. But I can’t depend on it. Even in Narnia, it’s just Aslan and you during the times that really matter, and it’s not always obvious that he’s there.