I think that all things, in their way, reflect heavenly truth

“I think that all things, in their way, reflect heavenly truth, the imagination not least.” — thus spoke C. S. Lewis, the scholar of Oxford and the pilgrim of faith, whose words bridge reason and wonder, theology and myth. In this radiant thought, Lewis reveals a vision of creation not as chaos, but as reflection — a mirror through which divine light shines. Every stone, every star, every creature, he believed, holds within it a glimmer of the heavenly truth, a whisper of the eternal order. Yet among all the gifts that mirror this truth, he calls out one in particular — the imagination, that sacred power by which the unseen becomes visible and the divine becomes near.

To Lewis, the imagination was not a mere plaything of poets, nor the idle dream of children. It was a faculty of revelation — a bridge between the mortal and the divine. Through imagination, the human soul can perceive what the intellect alone cannot grasp: the shimmer of meaning behind the world’s veil. For Lewis, who journeyed from atheism to faith, imagination was the first torch that lit his way back to belief. It stirred within him a longing for what he called Joy — a fleeting, piercing sense of the eternal, breaking through the ordinary. He came to see that such longings were not illusions, but messages from heaven — signs that our world, in its deepest essence, reflects the divine reality that lies beyond it.

This vision finds its roots in the ancient wisdom of the philosophers and mystics. Plato spoke of the world as a shadow of eternal forms; Augustine taught that creation is a mirror of its Maker. Lewis, standing in their lineage, renews this truth for a modern age that had forgotten wonder. “All things,” he says, “in their way, reflect heavenly truth.” The phrase in their way is key — for each thing, from the smallest pebble to the grandest idea, reflects truth according to its nature. The sea reflects God’s vastness, the flame His purity, the child His innocence, and the imagination, most wondrously of all, His creative power.

Consider the tale of J. R. R. Tolkien, Lewis’s friend and fellow dreamer, who forged from his own imagination the vast world of Middle-earth. In crafting languages, histories, and legends, Tolkien was not escaping reality — he was echoing it. His imagination was not rebellion against truth but reverence for it. Through his sub-created world, he mirrored the greater story — the struggle of good against evil, the fall and redemption of all things. Lewis saw in Tolkien’s art what he himself believed: that every act of true imagination is a reflection of the divine imagination, the very act by which God brought the universe into being.

And yet, Lewis’s teaching is not confined to artists alone. Each soul, in its daily life, holds this same gift. When a mother comforts her child, when a teacher awakens curiosity, when a man forgives his enemy — all these are acts of imagination, for they envision a world more merciful, more luminous than the one that is. To imagine is to perceive what could be, and thus to align the heart with what heaven intends. The imagination, rightly used, is not fantasy divorced from truth; it is the faculty by which truth is made alive within us.

But there is warning here too. For just as a clear mirror can reflect the sun, a clouded one can distort it. The imagination, if corrupted by pride, greed, or despair, no longer reflects the heavenly truth but only the shadows of the self. False imagination gives birth to idols — illusions that flatter rather than illuminate. Lewis, who saw the modern world enthralled by such illusions, reminds us that imagination must be disciplined by humility and faith. Only then can it remain a true mirror of the divine.

Thus, the lesson for all who hear these words is this: honor your imagination, for it is a holy instrument. Feed it not with trivialities, but with beauty, wisdom, and love. When you read, read deeply; when you dream, dream nobly; when you create, create with reverence for the truth that inspires you. Look upon the world not with cynicism but with wonder, for in every moment — in the curve of a leaf, in the laughter of a friend, in the silence of dawn — heaven’s truth glimmers, waiting to be seen.

And so, as Lewis teaches, let your imagination become a window to eternity. Do not dismiss it as folly, nor let it sleep beneath the weight of the world. For imagination, when guided by truth, is not escapism — it is revelation. It is the light of the soul reflecting the light of heaven. Through it, we remember who we are: creatures made in the image of a Creator, born not merely to witness the world, but to perceive, reflect, and share its divine meaning.