This article stems from some thoughts and comments of mine from a recent Bible class at my church that I wished to write down. The main subject was the epistles of John, although what I’m focusing on, as was focused on in the class, is the motif of light and dark in the Johannine corpus. This is found explicitly in numerous places in John’s texts, such as at the very beginning in John 1:5 (“And the light shines on in the darkness, but the darkness has not mastered it”) to later with Christ’s exclamation in 8:12 (“I am the light of the world!”), along with prominent occurrences elsewhere in the epistles as well. What exactly is the nature and implication of this motif? I’ll discuss all this in this article.
Firstly, I think this is all quite obvious. Light (φῶς, phós) and dark (σκότος, skotos) represent good and evil, holiness and unholiness, righteousness and unrighteousness, respectively. We learn from John that “God is light, and in Him there is no darkness at all” (1 Jn. 1:5), and likewise Paul describes God as “[living] in unapproachable light” (1 Tim. 6:16). Darkness, contrariwise, indicates that which is wicked, for John explains that the righteous and loving God (Who is light) sent His Christ into the world (Jn. 3:16-17) against those who love the darkness (vv. 19-20) that are firmly contrasted with those of the light (vv. 20-21). Paul explains that Christians find themselves at war with “the world rulers of this darkness” (Eph. 6:12), “skotous toutou,” akin to John. These mentions of the other disciples make sense, because no one motif or theme in Scripture is firmly restricted to any one segment, but, bearing a common source (albeit with different hands), what prominently informs one corpus may accent parts of another. Accordingly, Matthew (4:12-17) records the following of the beginning of Christ’s ministry:
Now when Jesus heard that John had been imprisoned, He went into Galilee. While in Galilee, He moved from Nazareth to make His home in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah would be fulfilled:
“Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the way by the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles—the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light, and on those who sit in the region and shadow of death a light has dawned.”
From that time Jesus began to preach this message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near!”
Notice the clear connections being drawn between Christ’s ministry and Isaiah’s language of light and dark. John describes Christ’s coming-into-the-world as the arrival of the Light (Jn. 1:9; 3:19; 9:5), and Isaiah prophesies that a light will dawn on Galilee. Indeed, this dawn-dusk distinction invites us to contemplate the significance of the whole motif: John is using these themes not strictly morally, but perhaps more so temporally, with the present world being under darkness but, upon the advent of Christ, being illuminated by the dawn of God’s glory (this is what Peter Leithart argues).
Where might John have developed this motif? Well, clearly, given what we’ve just discussed, this motif isn’t exclusively Johannine, but rather prominently Johannine. We’ve seen parallels in the Matthean and Pauline corpuses as well. What this means is that the “Light vs. Dark” motif is grounded in something other than John, although John casts more light on it (no pun intended). Personally, I think the most logical source, scripturally, is Genesis 1. As we read therein, the uncreated state of the Earth was “formless and void,”1 requiring the action of God to bring it structure and meaning. This state is further described as “wuḥōshek̲ ʿal-punêt̲hôm” (וְחֹ֖שֶׁךְעַל־פְּנֵ֣יתְה֑וֹם), under the specter of a primordial darkness. The keywords here are tehom (תְּהוֹם) and choshek (חשֶׁךְ). Tehom is well-known to theologians with an eye for the mysterious in Scripture, for they understand it to be an ancient Semitism which referent is the primordial chaos (often likened to waters in the ANE mindset).2 Choshek means quite literally and simply darkness, but it’s figurative and symbolic use is apparent elsewhere in Scripture, for Job (10:21) laments that he will depart for “the land of darkness” (אֶ֖רֶץחֹ֣שֶׁךְ, ʾereṣ ḥōshek̲), the referent being Sheol (the underworld), and likewise it’s used to indicate the dreadful and terrifying state of judgment/abandonment (Zeph. 1:15; Nah. 1:8; Jl. 2:2, 31), as well as sin itself (Isa. 5:20).3
Thus, the use of both tehom and choshek makes it clear that the mood being set concerning the precreative state of the world is a negative one. The world is mired by uncreation, dysfunction and disorder, and this is emphasized by the invocation of a depersonalized primordial chaos.4 Now, given this set up, the very first thing God does following it, in commencing His creative act, is to bring light into the world—אוֹר (ʿór). Like with choshek, ʿór is used in Scripture to speak to higher realities, such as the light of life, goodness, or of God (Pss. 43:3; 56:14; 89:15; Job 30:26; 33:30; Lam. 3:2; Isa. 2:5; 10:17; cf. 9:2, the verse mentioned earlier describing the advent of the Messiah as a dawning light). Now, in saying this I am not allegorizing Genesis 1 to the excesses of the Origenists, assuming behind every syllable is some mystagogic element. Rather, I am pointing out the conceptual framework evinced by these Hebrew semantics.5 The primordial darkness in two elements invokes an iniquitous nature, while light is created by God to push back this darkness. We have, then, a dichotomy, a motif, of light and dark here, with spiritual and cosmic as well as physical elements. The darkness is darkness, but this is bad, because darkness is indicative of a precreative state, and likewise while light is light6 it is considered good, since it’s brought about by God and contributes to the formation of the created world.
From Genesis 1, then, proceeds this fundamental light/dark motif, serving as a springboard much like it does for the rest of biblical theology, symbology, and cosmology. Thus, Genesis, as Andy Patton puts it, “is the seedbed out of which the major symbols and images in the whole Bible grow.” Its presence in the Mosaic and Isaianic texts, then, stems from here (for both prophets did dedicate certain tracts of their works to cosmology), and this goes downstream to be received by apostolic hands (particularly John). John, most certainly an educated Jew (during or after the Lord’s ministry), read his scrolls and went to synagogue, and certainly heard David ask God to “send out Your light and Your truth” (Ps. 43:3) and Isaiah declare “let us walk in the light of the LORD” (Isa. 2:5), and thus he writes for us: “God is light.”
Since light, that being righteousness and goodness, is of God (Pss. 89:14; 97:2; 99:4), John implores us to “walk in the light as he himself is in the light,” for if we don’t share in the way and life of God how shall our way and life be of God as well? “If we say we have fellowship with Him and yet keep on walking in the darkness, we are lying and not practicing the truth” (1 Jn. 1:6). Note how, in this passage, John crafts an interesting collocation: “But if we walk in the light as He Himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin.” John has clearly established that light is righteousness (or, more broadly, Godliness), that to abide in the light is to be pious/Godly, and he places our koinonia as contingent on this abiding. But, notice what he also does. He relates the light of righteousness to the blood of Christ; again, “If we walk in the light…we have fellowship…and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from.” This verse can be, and in some translations has been, formulated as a conditional proposition (P→Q), e.g., the NLT reads: “But if we are living in the light, as God is in the light, then we have fellowship with each other, and the blood of Jesus, His Son, cleanses us from all sin.” So, L→F∧C. Logically, this means that our fellowship and cleansing by the blood is equivalent to walking in the light.7 Being cleansed by the blood of Christ, then, bears an equivalency to walking in the light (being Godly).8 This, of course, makes sense if God is equated to light (the light of righteousness, as we’ve established), God is love (1 Jn. 5:16), and Christ was sent into the world to bear the Father’s love and light (Jn. 1:9; 3:16-21; 9:5).
Another interesting observation can be made from what darkness and light actually are. Light, for example, is an emission from a source, it’s the manifestation of an illuminator. In this sense, I think it’s a perfect analogy for God’s economic activity versus His transcendent or ontological nature. While God is not known in His essence He is known in His energies, His immanent activity; while we don’t see the Sun,9 we see its light illuminating the world around us. Likewise, while we don’t know God in and of Himself we know (and experience) Him energetically.10 In contrast, what is darkness? Well, darkness isn’t actually a thing, but the lack of a thing, namely, the absence of light. Darkness exists where light isn’t being emitted, or can’t reach, or is being blocked. Darkness doesn’t exist along with light, darkness is merely a privation. I believe this is something Christians have long acknowledged, because for centuries theologians have promoted the privation theory of evil, the belief that evil isn’t actually a thing (as various dualistic and pagan religions asserted), but rather an absence of goodness, or, as Augustine put it,
For evil has no positive nature; but the loss of good has received the name “evil.”11
Since, as we’ve established, darkness is parallel to wickedness (i.e., evil), and darkness is a privation of light, this parallel with classical notions of evil is quite appropriate. Sin, accordingly, blocks the light of divine goodness, and it as well constitutes the absence of that light. Any wonder why Christ refers to perdition as “the outer darkness, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth” (Matt. 8:12)? For there God’s light will not abide, there will be tenebrous nothingness. When we are fully taken over by sin, the warmth of God’s energies will recede from us and leave us dead; as C.S. Lewis put it, we will be completely turned
“into a heavenly creature or a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is heaven: that is, it is joy and peace and knowledge and power. To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness. Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state of the other.”12
So, as we’ve seen, the thematic interplay between light and dark, good and evil, righteousness and unrighteousness, is deeply rooted in Scripture, extending beyond the works of John and touching various parts of the Bible. Coming of the pages of Genesis, depicting the holy infusion of cosmic order (light) into the chaotic void, this imagery of light and dark carries spiritual and cosmic significance, reflecting God's immanent presence and the privation of goodness brought by darkness. This isn’t a Light far removed from us our inaccessible in the highest heaven, but One that has come into the world (Jn. 3:19; cf. Matt. 4:12-17), shining atop Mount Tabor for all to be drawn near (2 Pet. 1:16-18; cf. Matt. 5:14-16). Scripture makes it clear that we aren’t facing a dualistic system here, but rather one in which all is being done to illuminate divine goodness into the parts of Creation where it has been lost; most tragically, the human heart. Ultimately, it’s a reminder that our choices determine whether we walk in the light, enjoying communion with God and the cleansing power of Christ's sacrifice, or whether we remain in the darkness, estranged from the divine and subject to spiritual decay. In this way, the motif of light and dark serves as a fundamental framework for understanding the broader themes of Scripture, emphasizing the transformative power of God’s light as well as the consequences of persisting in the absence of it.
For my views on what this, as well as the whole Creation narrative, constitutes, see my series on John Walton’s cosmology, beginning here.
See BibleProject Podcast (Ep. 21), “Chaotic Waters;” Andy Patton, “The Primeval Sea—God Rules the Chaotic Waters;” and Bendt Alister, “Tiamat,” in DDD2, eds. Karel van der Toorn, Bob Becking, Pieter W. van der Horst, 867-69.
Depersonalized I say, rather than demythologized (as some would have it). While the nature of Chaoskampf is quite subdued in Genesis’s theology, I hold that elsewhere in the Pentateuch as well as Scripture that it’s much more pronounced (definitely a subject for a future article).
Indeed, Basil of Caesarea, a notable opponent of the Origenists, drew many spiritual insights out of Genesis 1 in his Hexameron, while maintaining a firm boundary between his methods and allegorizing (see Christopher Hall, Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers, 85-92).
Contributing to, in Day One (vv. 3-5), the creation of time (the day-night cycle).
I outsourced the work of demonstrating the logical proofs for this to some AIs. Two responses I found the most clear and helpful. The first:
Based on the truth table of P→Q∧R, we can see that if P, Q, R, Q∧R, and P→Q∧R are all true, then the scenario proposed in the first question is equivalent to the first row of the truth table. However, this does not necessarily mean that the question is true. To determine whether the question is true, we need to examine the logical equivalence between P→Q∧R and Q∧R→P. According to logicians, if P→Q and Q→R are true, then P→R is also true. Using this result, we can show that P→Q∧R is logically equivalent to Q∧R→P as follows:
P→Q∧R is true if and only if P is false or Q∧R is true.
Q∧R→P is true if and only if Q∧R is false or P is true.
Q∧R is false if and only if either Q is false or R is false.
If Q is false, then P→Q∧R is true because the antecedent is false.
If R is false, then Q∧R is false and Q∧R→P is true because the antecedent is false.
If Q and R are both true, then P→Q∧R is true because the consequent is true.
If P is true, then Q∧R→P is true because the consequent is true.
Therefore, we can conclude that P→Q∧R is logically equivalent to Q∧R→P, which means that the reality of Q∧R is fundamentally the same as the reality of P if and only if P→Q∧R is true.
And, the second:
To determine if P→Q∧R is equivalent to Q∧R→P, we can use logical equivalence laws. One way to approach this is to use the fact that P→Q∧R is equivalent to ¬P∨(Q∧R) by the logical equivalence involving conditional statements. Similarly, Q∧R→P is equivalent to ¬(Q∧R)∨P by the same logical equivalence.
We can then use the distributive law of logical equivalence to write ¬P∨(Q∧R) as (¬P∨Q)∧(¬P∨R). Similarly, we can write ¬(Q∧R)∨P as (¬Q∨¬R)∨P.
To show that these two expressions are equivalent, we can use the commutative and associative laws of logical equivalence to rearrange the terms. Specifically, we can write (¬P∨Q)∧(¬P∨R) as (Q∨¬P)∧(R∨¬P), and (¬Q∨¬R)∨P as P∨(¬Q∨¬R).
Now we can use the distributive law of logical equivalence again to write (Q∨¬P)∧(R∨¬P) as ¬(P∧¬Q)∨(Q∨R), and we can use the commutative law to write (Q∨R) as (R∨Q).
Putting it all together, we have ¬(P∧¬Q)∨(Q∨R)≡¬(P∧¬Q)∨(R∨Q)≡(¬P∨Q)∧(¬Q∨R)≡P→Q∧R. Therefore, P→Q∧R is equivalent to Q∧R→P.
P, Q, and R are, of course, L, F, and C in the original proposition I devised from 1 John 1:7, although the AIs got tripped up over not having these specific terms not defined, so I changed them to the standard terms used in logical notation (P, Q, R). No big deal, of course, since, taking from the second output, all they’re saying is, “Therefore, L→F∧C is equivalent to F∧C→L.”
Uh oh, works salvation!? No, not necessarily. As Tertullian wrote, “For this is the virtue of the Lord’s blood, that such as it has already purified from sin, and thenceforward has set ‘in the light,’ it renders thenceforward pure, if they shall continue to persevere walking in the light” (De Mod. XIX). Our initial justification is most certainly by faith, but we are “[rendered] thenceforward pure, if [we] shall continue to persevere walking in the light.”
Herein is the dissimilarity of the analogy, although the similarity can be found in that like how we can’t (shouldn’t) look at the Sun because it hurts, we can’t comprehend God’s essence (because we just can’t).
This is the classic example used to explain the theological doctrine of the essence-energies distinction, an important concept in ancient Christian theology which has become gravely overlooked in modern Western Christianity. I will discuss it in greater length in the future.
Augustine of Hippo, The City of God, 11.9.
C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 90.