John’s Gospel opens thus: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” While perhaps not the first passage we think of for Christmas,¹ John 1:1-14 is John’s nativity story, his declaration of Christ’s birth. Consider verse 14, which says, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us….” If verse 1 is the statement of the Word-as-Christ, of His Divinity, this is the statement of incarnation, of God-who-became-man, of the Creator being born a creature without ceasing to be Creator. We authors should be enthralled by this nativity story for one reason: writing is made out of words, and Christ is here named ‘The Word’. We therefore want to understand what this passage means, not just in general but for us as authors.

Before we get into affirmations, we’ve got some negatives to get through regarding the meaning and translation of Logos (‘λογος’ in Greek)², the word the ESV translates as ‘Word’. While it’s possible John knew Greek philosophy when he was writing down this passage, it doesn’t seem a plausible interpretation to simply import the significance of ‘logos’ in that tradition, Christianize it, and leave it at that. The usual meaning of ‘logos’ in Greek philosophy, as a philosophical term, was that of an impersonal force, either fate or a prime mover. The concept was mechanistic, granting power rather than agency to the entity signaled by the word. The meaning of John’s writing here, however, very clearly does not allow for the Word to be impersonal; the Word is God, no denying it, and God is personal. Besides, how could an impersonal force be incarnated, become flesh (save as the Stoics had it, as being all things (pantheism))? We should be aware of the historical proximity of Greek philosophy, but given the lack of evidence in the text or elsewhere that John was contemplating the philosophical term ‘logos’ at time of writing, we shouldn’t grant it much interpretive weight.³

Leaving that morass behind, we find Gordon Clark’s interpretation: ‘logos’ means ‘logic’ (which works in coordination with Clark’s assertion that man and God use the same logic).⁴ This translation is not really false. ‘Logic’ (a pattern of relationship, particularly between concepts) flows from the Word and is in man a reflection, in God a part of the Word. Yet the classical translation of λογος (‘word’) encompasses a much wider meaning which is the true extent of John’s use requires. As we’ll see, John speaks of more than just logic or (Clark’s alternate translation) wisdom (though wisdom, as most Biblical translations use it, is much closer than logic, encompassing not just fact but morality).⁵ What does he speak of? Wait just a moment, and I’ll explain my meaning.

The final dismissal required is this: the first few verses of John do not at all deny Christ’s deity or personhood. Regardless of what some claim, the lack of an article on ‘God’ (‘θεος’) in the third clause of the first verse does not mean that the Word is merely an aspect of God the Father. Neither does it mean that the Word is merely godlike, merely divine-proximate, that the Word is a god as the Arian heretics (Mormons, etc.) claim. Those claims apply incomplete or English-centric understandings to the Greek grammar, forgetting that the article in Greek is a significantly different animal from the article in English. I won’t spend more time on this, except to recommend that you look at this video for a more in-depth explanation from somebody with more than my two years of high-school Greek.

What logos is not being set aside, the question natural arises of what it is. The person to whom John refers in this particular instance is, of course, Christ Jesus, the Son of God. Yet this answer, while true, is insufficient. What does John intend to communicate by calling Christ ‘the Word’ (‘ο λογος’)?⁶ That all of Christ and His nature is not encompassed by the name is clear from the fact that He is infinite and all human words finite. That not all of the Bible’s communication concerning Him is included in this name should be clear as well, to intuition as well as the consideration that this is not His only name. John’s use of this name here, therefore, must have some specific purpose and intended meaning. Why does John name Christ so?

In order to understand the answer, we must first consider the eternal decree of God. God’s eternal decree is His sovereign determination in Himself and by His own counsel, will, and purpose of the totality of the universe, a determination which did not happen before the universe but rather outside of time, in the eternal, immutable mind of God.⁷ To give the Westminster Longer Catechism’s definition, “God’s decrees are the wise, free, and holy acts of the counsel of His will, whereby, from all eternity, He hath, for His own glory, unchangeably fore-ordained whatsoever comes to pass in time, especially concerning angels and men.” This manifests first in the initial act of creation and now in God’s preservation of the world, His general providence.⁸ It manifests also in His special providence, His plan of salvation, which manifestation is its true and central gem.

The Bible relates multiple instances of God’s direct enactment of His decree by His words. In Genesis 1, His creative work is repeatedly heralded thus: “And God said….” So He creates light, all living things, and man himself, as well as the rest of the cosmos (Gen. 1:3,12-25,27). Further, in Isaiah 55:11, He declares the following: “My word shall not return to Me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” That God’s word has power is plain, but there is a yet more tangible example of the power of His word and His use of it to accomplish His decree before us: Scripture. Scripture is the word of God; indeed, the Septuagint referred to it as the logos (λογος) of God. Through Scripture God enacts His decree in the hearts of men; by Scripture He convicts and brings to repentance the sinner (Heb. 4:12). It provides the standard, as Hebrews 4 continues on to imply in verse 13, to which mankind will be held when God summons all to Him for the final judgement.

It is by words, moreover, that God communicates His decree, so far as it is revealed to us. From nature we might intuit, on the basis of conscience and inductive logic, that God exists; from our own human natures, as per Romans 1, we have a certain blurred knowledge of the true import of the sin we commit (which knowledge is our condemnation (v20)). In Scripture, however, God has given us an insight into the grand plan of His decree, the glorification of Christ, for which we ever ought to give thanks. For that purpose, then, He chose words, words which are unlike scents and sights and textures and tastes. Words are specifically limited symbols, and therefore they can tell the truth about that which is not themselves, which is not of this flesh, and do so consistently to any man instructed in them.

All this lead up and all these connections between ‘decree’ and ‘God’s word’ make little difference without the last link of the chain, which is this: Christ is the center of the decree of God. He is the one who enacts God’s decree (Col 2:15; Psalm 2:8-9). It was by Christ, the Word, that all creation was made, as per John 1:2; it is Christ who, as John again testifies, accomplishes the work of redemption (John 19:28-30) and thereby ascends to the right hand of the Father and gains all dominion over the earth which was His and is His by nature and inheritance and conquest (Acts 2:33; Col. 1:15-20). Christ therein not only enacts the decree of God but also in Himself fulfils its greatness. That He should be exalted is, as Colossians 1:18 also proclaims, the purpose of God’s decree: “He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent.” Given that the phrase ‘firstborn from the dead’ is a direct reference to His resurrection, the center-point and pivot of history, of the decree made manifest, of Scripture, we cannot but understand that His preeminence is the purpose of all that flows into His death and resurrection, all that flows out of it, which two comprise all that is, was, or will be.

When John names the Son by the word ‘Logos’, therefore, the apostle refers to His role in the decree, in God’s word. It is because Christ is the purpose, enactor, and fulfilment of the Father’s decree that He can be called by its name; it is because His decree is carried out by His words (through His word, the Son of God) and declared by His words (in His word, the Bible) that John refers to Christ as the Word. Thus, John begins his gospel with an emphatic declaration not only of Christ’s divinity but of His part in the story of the universe, in the story of mankind, in the story of redemption. He states that Christ, the Son of God, is central to and causative of the great good which he will relate to his readers; he declares, in no uncertain terms, that this great God, this Person in whom the eternal decree of Yahweh can be summed, that this Son of the Most High has become flesh and dwelt among us, as Isaiah prophesied (Is. 7:10-25; Matt. 1:23).

What does this mean for us authors?

We aren’t writing Words. To assert such would be blasphemous as well as stupid. We aren’t writing God’s words either; our books aren’t inspired or infallible. Occasionally they’re inerrant, at least as far as we can tell. What we are doing, however, is using words to communicate in imitation of His decree, His word. Consider the analogy of the circumstance. God is the author of all His creation; His decree is His will which that creation expresses and carries out; His words are a communication of that decree. Thus, when we write stories, we are imitating God. We, as authors of these stories, decree in imitation of His decree that the story be this way and not that way. We then communicate this by our words.

The imitative nature of our work lays on us a duty not merely to ape the process but to imitate also the content of His story, in which we are a part. Our stories should echo the structure of His story and of the parts of that story which we perceive as individual stories. I’ve talked about this elsewhere,⁹ but I’ll borrow the thesis of one of those earlier articles to give an example. The story God created has a just ending. This means that virtue is rewarded and vice is punished (it does not mean that everything preceding the ending is just; justice is only assured when the story has ended). Therefore, our tragedies and our comedies alike should echo this justice in their endings: vice brings tragedy, and virtue, including the virtue of repentance, brings comedy. Thus, our stories echo His stories, imitate Him and tell the truth about Him and His work.

It being Christmas, as of this post, the question arises: how can Christmas echo in our stories?

Christmas, properly appreciated, can teach us an important lesson about stories: we need catastrophes in order to have eucatastrophes. From a perspective which does not know the rest of the gospel, the Incarnation of Christ at His nativity was a catastrophe. What else can we call the Creator becoming creaturely, becoming flesh? No greater reduction can be imagined (save that which Christ suffered upon the Cross, when He cried to His Father in spiritual agony (Matt. 27:46)). He who knew no sin came to be man, to be tempted even as we are (Heb. 4:14-16). He who knew no want, whose right was the dominion of all creation, He came and walked among us men, was hungry and thirsted. To quote Paul, “.. though he was in the form of God, [Christ] did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men” (Phil. 2:6-7). This was a catastrophe, considered on in itself, and yet it was the beginning of the decisive battle of history, the first blow after which all the rest was assured.

By this catastrophe and by its brother, the catastrophe of His death, Christ brought to fruition His great work, the redemption of His people and the enthronement of His person. By catastrophe, Christ brought eucatastrophe. What is eucatastrophe? It is the inverse of catastrophe; where catastrophe is a suddenly plunge into despair and darkness, eucatastrophe is a leap from darkest despair, where no hope can remain, a leap which reaches to the heights of joy.¹⁰

This, then, is the lesson of Christmas for the writer (though its understanding first requires an understanding of the lesson Christmas has for the man). The story must hurt in order to heal; characters made in man’s image must travel through the Valley of the Shadow of Death if they are to revel in righteousness, both so that the story may speak truth in itself and so that the reader may hear the truth. This darkness, this valley, is the conflict which lies at the heart of narrative. Without conflict, desire remains only desire; without conflict, desire can never reach revelation.¹¹

This calling is a glorious duty. He created all that is via His words; He spoke to us men in words;¹² He took on the name of the Word. That we, in writing stories, have the privilege given to us of wielding our words in imitation of Him is a beauteous thing indeed, one which should liven us to an appreciation of our duty as writers who handle these grave tools of good-doing and glory. To us He has given the power to imitate His creative and decretal work; we therefore should approach our work with gratitude unending towards him, with an earnest desire which we ever seek to heighten towards His glory. Let this be our comfort and our pride, then, as well as our humility, that we are as nothing to His work which we imitate.

God bless.

Footnotes

1 – I actually hadn’t intended to write a holiday-themed post until I realized that Christmas was a Monday.

2 – In most original manuscripts, it would look more like ‘ΛΟΓΟΣ’, as most manuscripts found are written in all caps. I highly recommend this book if the subject of the manuscripts interests you.

3 – Source

4 – If we remove our sin (as sin makes out logic suspect, save when we’re parroting God, via repeating His Word), our logic and God’s has a correspondence but not a singularity. We have logic as creatures; He has logic as creator. The debate, of course, is much too large for this brief statement of position to be a conclusive argument.

5 – This theory does have a connection to the first one I dismissed. In The Johannine Logos, which I read parts of in preparation for this article (I found it last minute and so lacked the time to do more), Clark explains (as far as I can tell) that he thinks that John is not using the Greek philosophical term in order to borrow their meaning but in order to refute it. To his credit, if one assumed John aware of that philosophy, this assertion would have much merit, would even seem probable to me. It unfortunately doesn’t support his position so strongly as it does mine, if it is true, as my interpretation would contradict the philosophical interpretation whereas Clark’s would actually endorse parts of the philosophy.

I add the caveat that Gordon Clark is somewhat difficult to read. It’s possible he and I are much closer in thought that I perceive. If your understanding of Clark clashes with mine, please take my critique as a critique of the position I explained Clark as having, not as of the position you perceive Clark to hold.

6 – Forgive me; I never learned how to do the breath mark that is present over the definite article using a keyboard. For the curious, the transliteration of the article is ‘ho’; the pronunciation is ‘ha’ as in ‘hahahaha’. Greek has no indefinite article (‘a’ in English).

7 – I’m going to be talking about the Trinity and the economy thereof. It’s quite possible I’ll say something which could be interpreted as heresy, given the complexity of the topic and terminology. I therefore declare here that I hold to the orthodox Trinitarian position, the same orthodoxy as Calvin (I highly recommend Calvin’s treatment of the Trinity in Book 1, Chapter 13 his Institutes (on page 88 of this PDF)) and Luther and Athanasius. I may differ in some aspects of my understanding from these, but my differences are not in the core areas but in those which Christians have understood as being debatable between brothers- i.e. the nature or presence of a covenant of redemption.

8 – The Westminster Longer Catechism is available here. I highly recommend reading through Questions 12, 14, and 18 for further context and some proof texts on my topic.

9 – Here’s some related articles: “Endings: Happy, Sad, Bad?” | “How Much Theology is Too Much Theology?” | “Writing Sin: Right or Wrong?” & “Show, Don’t Tempt: The Good and the Ugly“

10 – This word I have borrowed from J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterful essay, On Fairy Stories, available online here.

11 – I speak using the terminology I established in this article.

12 – Words analogically so called, to be generous, but that they were called words by Him indicates the accuracy of the analogy.