The Death of Cosmic Reality

grant p
Sep 20
4 min read

For over a thousand years, Europe breathed within a vast and living cosmos. The world of the Middle Ages was not small, flat, or cold. It was radiant with meaning. Every star and stone was a sign of the Creator. Every angel, every saint, every relic and sacrament testified that heaven and earth were joined. To step into a cathedral was to step into the cosmos itself, where stained glass was the firmament, candles the stars, and Christ enthroned at the altar the heart of creation.

This vision was not a fantasy. It was the recognition of reality: the Trinity alive in eternity, Christ truly present in the Eucharist, the wounds of Jesus open as fountains of mercy, Mary reigning as Queen, angels battling, demons prowling, heaven and hell as the ultimate destiny of souls. This was not “imagination” added on top of the world. It was the world itself, seen clearly.

The Cracks: Humanism and the Reformation

The Renaissance, with its bright achievements, also shifted focus toward the human. Humanism rediscovered classical antiquity, but often at the expense of the supernatural imagination. Then came the Protestant Reformation, which struck directly at the sacramental and mystical heart of medieval Catholicism.

Saints, relics, pilgrimages, processions, miracle-tales, and devotion to the wounds of Christ were denounced as superstition. The enchanted world of bells and holy water, rosaries and relics, Masses for the dead and visions of Mary — all were pruned away. In their place stood a stripped-down Christianity, more rational, more text-centered, more concerned with doctrine than mystery.

The Reformation broke the unity of Christendom, but it also began the disenchantment of the world.

Rational Religion: Deism and the Enlightenment

Once the sacraments and saints were pushed aside, the next step was to push away Christ Himself. The “reasonable religion” of the Enlightenment reduced God to a distant watchmaker, the “Great Architect” who set the cosmos in motion but never touched it again.

Freemasonry, salons, and Enlightenment societies cultivated this new creed. Gone were the angels, demons, sacraments, and wounds. In their place stood abstract virtue and vague brotherhood. Deism promised light without fire, God without grace, ethics without worship.

It was not enough to satisfy the soul, but it prepared the way for something colder still.

The Eclipse: Atheism, Materialism, Scientism

If God was only a distant architect, why not remove Him altogether? The French Revolution exalted Reason as goddess. In the 19th century, Feuerbach reduced God to human projection, Marx to an opiate of the masses, Nietzsche declared His death.

The 20th century sealed the shift with scientism — the claim that only what can be measured is real. Materialism denied soul, heaven, and hell. Angels and demons were discarded as fantasy. Even morality itself was treated as a byproduct of biology. The cosmos, once alive with grace, was presented as a dead machine.

The Hunger for More

Yet the human heart cannot live long in a flattened world. We long for transcendence. We ache for the mystery of life. That is why the great fairy tales still grip us — Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, even Harry Potter. These stories whisper what we know to be true: that there is more. That life is battle and pilgrimage. That unseen powers are at work. That sacrifice is victory. That love is stronger than death.

We are drawn to them not because they are escapist, but because they pull back the veil. They are echoes of the great cosmic vision that once filled Europe — the vision of the Middle Ages, when Christ’s wounds were fountains, when Mary’s mantle covered nations, when the Trinity was praised in hymns, when angels and demons were treated as neighbors, when the Song of Songs was read as the burning love between God and His people.

Conclusion: Back to Reality

The decline is clear: from the cosmic fullness of Catholic Christendom → to the stripped-down Protestant Word → to the distant God of Deism → to the cold void of materialism. Each step diminished mystery, until nothing was left but atoms and utility.

But fairy tales point us back. They stir an ancient memory. They remind us that the world is not a machine, but a drama. And yet, as beautiful as they are, fairy tales are only the echo. What we need is the full music: the cosmic vision of the Middle Ages, renewed for today.

A vision where: