Logos… No, not that kind of logos…

Let me preface this by saying that I am by no means an expert in any of the subject I’m about to discuss. If I get something wrong, feel free to gently remind me.

I’ve been fascinated as of late with the Greek word Logos, which literally means “word,” or, with some interpretation, logic or reasoning. It’s where we get the -ology suffix in the English language (words like biology, idiology, and theology). Even though it means “word,” though, it doesn’t refer to the grammatical object—there’s another word for that. Logos had a deeper meaning.

You have to remember that Greek culture and thought revolved around logic—they brought about the first organized school of philosophy, and several thereafter. The Greek philosopher Heraclitus described Logos as an underlying logic and order to the universe. He called it “the account which governs the universe.” To understand Logos would be to have an intimite knowledge of the universe and why things work the way they do. In Heraclitus’s eyes, Logos was what governed the world and held it together.

The Stoics, over 200 years later, believed there were two basic types of substance: passive, meaning matter and the physical realm, and active, meaning universal logic—also called Logos. Passive substance was subject to active substance since the universe is bound by its own rules. (This is similar to Platonism, but I’m not well-versed enough to articulate the differences.) The human soul and spirit were considered active substance, but were bound by passive substance. It was only in transcending our base human desires and inclinations that we were able to understand Logos.

So, with the Stoics, Logos took on a much more spiritual aspect. One of the main goals of Stoicism was to improve not only a person’s reasoning mind, but his or her actions and morals as well. It was a philosophy gauged not only on pure thought, but on tangible application of that thought (albeit for intangible goals).

Stoicism also spent a great deal of time thinking about god, or, more specifically, the entire universe as a god. Marcus Aurelius had this to say on the matter:

Constantly regard the universe as one living being, having one substance and one soul; and observe how all things have reference to one perception, the perception of this one living being; and how all things act with one movement; and how all things are the cooperating causes of all things which exist; observe too the continuous spinning of the thread and the structure of the web.
- Meditations iv.40

The “one substance and one soul” he talks about is Logos.

Now bear in mind that Stoicism began in the early third century BCE. This means that it was in full swing by the time Jesus arrived and started teaching. Israel had been a part of the Roman Empire long enough to be exposed to and influenced by their teachings, and it was probably common knowledge among the Greeks at the time. So now, the opening passage from the gospel of John, written to the Greeks, probably makes a lot more sense:

In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God. It was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through it, and without it not one thing came into being. What has come into being in it was life, and the life was the light of all people.

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. It was in the world, and the world came into being through it; yet the world did not know it. It came to what was its own, and its own people did not accept it. But to all who received it, who believed in its name, it gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

(I replaced the word “Word” with “Logos” and the pronouns he, his, and him with it, its and it. All Greek nouns have a gender, just like most of the Romance languages, so the pronoun wasn’t necessarily gender-specific.)

So John was actually a philosophy buff. (To give credit where credit is due, he wasn’t the first one to attribute Logos to God. That credit belongs to the Jewish philosopher Philo, who was a contemporary of John.) So John was taking a concept that his readers were very familiar with and likening it to Jewish beliefs. But here’s where he throws the wrench into the works:

And the Logos became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen its glory…

This was as huge a concept for the Greeks as God becoming flesh was for the Jews. But it also says a lot about John’s belief. In his eyes, Jesus wasn’t just God, but also reason personified.

Now, I know Stoicism differs from Christian theology in a number of ways, many of which are discussed by Paul in other books—but you have to admit, there are also some significant similarities.

Anyway, these are just some thoughts I had. Feel free to discuss.

3 Responses to “Logos… No, not that kind of logos…”

  1. Truepenny Says:

    And then there’s also “logos” as one of three rhetorical appeals, the other two being “ethos” and “pathos.” A rich word, indeed.

    Hey, you got your logos in my ethos! Two great tastes that taste great together! (Are you old enough to remember that commercial for Reese’s PB cups? How embarrassing for me!)

  2. Beverly Hamilton Wenham Says:

    This always gets me thinking of Jung. The logos as masculine, to eros as female. Oh, like woman can’t be all present and rational and men be squishy and interconnected sometimes.
    I don’t know if Freud had thoughts on this or what he would say about the spit thing. But I bet he was for it!

  3. Becky Says:

    I’m always torn about the Gospel of John; I respect its literary merits but can’t bring myself to actually like it, sort of like how I feel about Emerson. On the one hand, it’s the most poetic gospel, as well as the most intellectually rigorous and the most dramatic. In John, Jesus Christ really IS a superstar–everybody seems to understand that he’s supposed to be the Son of God, which I guess means they’re paying attention, because Jesus brings this up ALL THE TIME. John paints the most infallible portrait of Jesus in the New Testament–he’s omnipotent, omniscient, totally rational, fully divine, and (I would argue) Stoic in his acceptance of his mission. It’s the one gospel that leaves no room for doubt about Jesus’ identity and perspective. Consquently, it’s the gospel most pastors love to quote from, and the gospel that modern Christianity draws most of its theology from, via John 3:16.

    However, the reasons above are exactly why I don’t like John’s account–at best, it comes across as contrived (Jesus as Louisa May Alcott’s Professor Behr), and at worst, it comes across an overly generous homage to a fallen comrade (John as Mark Antony to Jesus’ Caesar). I know, I know, the whole point of John’s gospel is that Jesus was God Incarnate. But the account doesn’t jive with Mark’s Jesus, who was such an ineffective spokesperson for Christianity that even his own disciples didn’t really get who he was until after his death. Or Matthew’s Jesus, who was a Jew first and Savior of the World second. Or Luke’s Jesus, the Son of Man who was rebuked for looking after the members of humanity no one else wanted to bother with. Compared to what we see of Jesus in the synoptic gospels (not to mention the apocryphal gospels of Thomas, Judas, etc.), Jesus McPerfectPants, filled with understanding and purpose since the instant of his conception, is literally incredible. I realize John’s narrative is the most compelling, but it’s also the most recent gospel we have a copy of, and probably the most heavily revised and embellished as a result.

    The constant Peter-bashing throughout the gospel doesn’t help it for me, either. Peter’s pretty much the only recurring character anyone can relate to, and John points out his stupidity/inferiority at every opportunity. Some theologians theorize that the John-discipled faction and the Peter-discipled faction were in a power struggle in the church’s early days; based on this gospel, I completely believe it.

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