East Meets West in C. S. Lewis: The Summons to Become Icons of Christ

The Summons to Become Icons of Christ

NOT MANY readers of C. S. Lewis know that, despite his well-known sympathies with the major texts and theologians of the West, he embraced a radically Eastern vision of the Christian life as a pilgrimage toward total transformation called theosis. This is a Greek word that does not actually appear in the New Testament. Yet like Trinity and Atonement, as terms also absent from Scripture, it is crucial for comprehending the Gospel. Roughly translated, it means the “divinizing” or “deification” of human life. C. S. Lewis’s friend Charles Williams gave it an odd English translation: “in-Godding.” We are called not merely to be yanked back from the brink of Hell, so that we remain ransomed but still sodden sinners for the sake of the Kingdom. Nor are we meant to follow Jesus as our Exemplar, striving for moral improvement so as to become “good people.” Important though these things surely are, they don’t touch the depths of theosis , which calls us to participate in the very life of God. We are summoned to be nothing other than icons of Christ.

Already by the 4th century theosis had become indispensable for the life of the Church. St. Athanasius (c. A.D. 296-373) gave it the most celebrated and succinct formulation: “God became human,” he declared, “so that humans may become God. And He manifested Himself by a body that we might receive an idea of the unseen Father; and He endured the insolence of men that we might inherit immortality.”

The 4th century saint is here recalling our Lord’s pronouncement from John 10:34—it is the virtual leitmotif of the Fourth Gospel—where Jesus quotes Psalm 82: “I said, you are gods.” Yet the real basis for theosis lies in a somewhat obscure remark from 2 Peter 1:4: “You shall become partakers of the divine nature.” Athanasius was a Father of the Greek-speaking Church of the East, and theosis has lain at the center of the Orthodox East . The Eastern Church insists on reading human nature in dual rather than singular terms, taking with utmost seriousness the Hebrew doublet which declares that we are made in “God’s image and likeness.”

For the East, the image of God in us remains virtually indestructible: we can escape it no more than we can avoid our own shadow. It ensures our unique and distinct identity, permanently setting us apart from the other animals. We can destroy it, in fact, only by becoming beasts (Athanasius) or demons (Gregory of Nyssa). Our likeness to God is also divinely given but it is not divinely fixed. Because God never coerces his creatures, He grants us freedom that is at once wondrous and terrible—namely, the liberty to become either more or less like the image in which we are made. We are already, here and now, on our way to ever greater likeness to God or else, alas, ever greater unlikeness. The first is called Paradise, the last Perdition. We are already embarked on our way toward either Heaven or Hell. Hence this sharp saying from Maximus the Confessor:

By his gracious condescension God became man and is called man for the sake of man and by exchanging His condition for ours revealed the power that elevates man to God through His love for God and brings God down to man because of His love for man. By this blessed inversion, man is made God by divinization and God is made man by hominization. For the Word of God and God wills always and in all things to accomplish the mystery of His embodiment.

In The Four Loves , Lewis draws a similar distinction while using different terms. There are two kinds of “nearness to God,” he argues. The first is the nearness that comes from God’s having impressed His character onto the whole creation, and supremely on us humans as the utter “given” of our human condition—the equivalent of what the East calls “image” or icon. The second nearness is “a nearness of approach” that requires our consent and collaboration; again, this is something akin to “likeness” in Orthodoxy. Always and already enabled by divine grace, the achievement of this nearness of approach is not imposed on us by anything akin to forensic justification or substitutionary atonement. As Lewis says, it is “something we must do.” He clearly believes in the necessity of our human response to God’s Incarnation. Hence Lewis’s remarkable claim in The Screwtape Letters :

The likeness they [i.e., believers] receive by sonship is not that of images or portraits. It is in one way more than likeness, for it is union or unity with God in will…. [O]ur imitation of God in this life—that is, our willed imitation as distinct from any [image] which He has impressed on our natures or states [of being]—must be an imitation of God incarnate: our model is the Jesus, not only of Cavalry, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands and surly oppositions, the lack of all peace and privacy, the interruptions. For this, so strangely unlike anything we can attribute to the Divine life in itself, is apparently not only like, but is, the Divine life operating under human conditions.

As Lewis also argues in Mere Christianity , the whole purpose of the Gospel is to turn Christians into what he variously calls “new men [and women],” “little Christs,” “Sons [and Daughters] of God”—all of which may rightly be called true icons.

The life of theosis entails our becoming fully human even as Christ was fully human. We are to become by grace what He is by nature, as the Lord’s Prayer indicates: we are meant to be gods dwelling in accord with each other on earth here and now as also in heaven. Lewis sounds this same trumpeted summons to theosis in his war-time sermon “The Weight of Glory.” There he calls for our transformative participation in God’s own life so as to effect not chiefly our own individual salvation but the deification of everyone we meet, even our life in the secular city:

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all love, all play, all politics.

Feast of St Sisoes the Great

July 06, 2016


Ralph C. Wood has served as University Professor of Theology and Literature at Baylor since 1998. He previously served for 26 years on the faculty of Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where he became the John Allen Easley Professor of Religion in 1990. He has also taught at Samford University in Birmingham, at Regent College in Vancouver, and at Providence College in Rhode Island.

*Excerpted from full essay which is published in Synaxis Vol. 3 No. 2



Share this Post on Your Preferred Platform

By Luke Taylor Gilstrap July 31, 2026
"What is it that has ordered the things of heaven and those of earth, the things which move through the air and those which move in the water; nay, rather the things which proceeded them: heaven and earth and the natures of fire and water? What is it that combined and arranged them...set them into motion and put them on their unceasing and unhindered course?..But who is the architect of these things? Or did not he who made them also bring them into being? We shall certainly not attribute such power to spontaneity." On the Orthodox Faith, Chapter 3 This comes after St. John of Damascus sets out to delineate between the created and the uncreated, a fact which, while at the core of existence, seems for him to be, for this very reason, the simplest to believe. Everything but God is created and, thus, susceptible to change. This means people, but this also means demons, angels, the rest of the created order across the entire cosmos. Everything is vulnerable to unrest. Except for God. If you have ever tried to explain the Holy Trinity to a child for the first time, maybe you have felt as I have the weightier, inexpressible side of God's unchangeability: how do I possibly communicate this essential fact to the person in front of me? (This is usually when my faint stutter starts to pop up again.) I like that here, like St. Patrick reaching for a three-leaf clover, St. John brings us back to earth to better understand the cosmos. Fire and water are no less mysteries than heaven and earth. And yet here we are, cooking and washing, eating and drinking, filled and sustained on what we can neither fully explain nor claim to have created. Only God is unchanging. Vice versa, God is the only constant we need. Maybe the rest is better left unsaid. LUKE TAYLOR GILSTRAP is Vice President of the Board of Directors for Eighth Day Institute. His poems have appeared in Spiritus, Ekstasis (Christianity Today), and Relief Journal, among others. He lives happily in Wichita, Kansas with his wife and three sons.
By Luke Taylor Gilstrap July 24, 2026
"Now, one who would speak or hear about God should know beyond any doubt that in what concerns theology and the Incarnation not all things are inexpressible and not all are capable of expression, and neither are all things unknowable nor are they all knowable. That which can be known is one thing, whereas that which can be said is another, just as it is one thing to speak and another to know. Furthermore, many of those things about God which are not clearly perceived cannot be fittingly described, so that we are obliged to express in human terms things which transcend the human order. Thus, for example, in speaking about God we attribute to Him sleep, anger, indifference, hands and feet, and the like." On the Orthodox Faith, Chapter 2 When I was studying Fiction in graduate school, one of the first methods I learned to really situate the reader in the story you were about to tell them was disorientation; if you wanted to ground them in one story, first you had pull the rug out from under their feet. So it's fitting that in the beginning of St. John Damascene's On the Orthodox Faith, before rebuilding our foundation, he first puts us squarely in limbo, seesawing back and forth between certainty and uncertainty. To paraphrase, there is no doubt (certainty) that about God some things can be expressed...but not all things (uncertainty). Some things about God are truly knowable (certainty), but some are unknowable (uncertainty). Oh, and while we're speaking about God (certainty), let's admit there's a gap, too, between what we say and what we know (uncertainty). My favorite line in this spiraling excerpt, "...it is one thing to speak, and another to know," takes me back to the final lines in Wendell Berry's poem, "How to Be a Poet," which he wrote primarily as a reminder to himself: Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came. Wherever your preferences fall on the cataphatic or apophatic spectrum of theology (whether you lean more toward what we can say about God or what we cannot), Berry's poem, I think, would nod along with St. John: before we say too much, let our words be preserved by the silence from which they came. I'm thinking of the silence, that filling, restorative quiet I feel when I step into a cathedral or in some of my favorite moments with my kids in the early hours. Even before praying, can we hear the One already praying in us? ​​​​​​​Let's start there. LUKE TAYLOR GILSTRAP is Vice President of the Board of Directors for Eighth Day Institute. His poems have appeared in Spiritus, Ekstasis (Christianity Today), and Relief Journal, among others. He lives happily in Wichita, Kansas with his wife and three sons.
By Mark C. Watney July 20, 2026
Late-Night Bookstores and Spiritual Reading
By Sarah Orner July 20, 2026
On St. Benedict and the Making of Vows
By Luke Taylor Gilstrap July 20, 2026
The Pursuit of Truth in the Age of AI
By Michael Simmon July 20, 2026
On the Theology of Raising Chickens
By Luke Taylor Gilstrap July 20, 2026
G.K. Chesterton and Raising Small Children
By Fr. Mark Lovett June 9, 2026
"Seal of the Fathers"
By Luke Taylor Gilstrap June 9, 2026
In Memory of Warren Farha, 1955-2026
By Jeremy Wagner May 15, 2026
An Ode to St. Brendan the Voyager
More Posts