Pure Creation)
John 1 tells us that in the beginning was the Word, which Word was apparently an animating and creating figure, by whom all created things were created. Of course, that would mean plants and animals and people, but even more fundamentally, if minerals and atoms and forces of nature are created things, then they were created by this Word also.
Thus, the Word would be neither mineral nor atomic nor natural, but instead an immaterial, uncreated being that has always been. The Word would have created all things, but not been made up of those things itself. It would have made this world, but would not be contained within this world. And the world, by measuring itself, would never find the Word, only clues that it existed somewhere “out there.”
The closest analogue that we have to this sort of creation is when a person composes a story, a song, or some other conceptual thing. The making of something physical like a bridge or a building would not be the same, because that requires using pre-created elements that are composed of the same sort of matter that we are. So, too, the physical book and the ink that forms the notes on the page are not the same, only the idea that is the story or the song itself. These are the things that are pure creations, things that are not made of the same stuff that we are, things that we exist entirely outside of. They are ours, they are of us, but they are also distinct from us.
The Author Becomes a Character)
However, John 1 goes on to tell us, “and the Word was made flesh.” Though the Word was uncreated, existing outside all the material universe, yet it entered into that universe. The author became a character within His own story, meeting and knowing the different protagonists and the antagonists, and influencing them along their way.
We once again have an analogue to this, for we also imbue our conceptual creations with the imprint of our own selves. For example, many authors will conceive of a story by imagining themselves in a particular situation, and then will write their own simulated words and thoughts and feelings within that context. The story itself is an idea, but the author, himself, is an idea within that idea. A love song will draw on the real-world longing and heartbreak of its composer, a conceptual reflection of the heart of the one that sings it. It has often been noted that all art is in some way an expression of its creator, which means the creator is recreated to some degree within it.
The Unknowableness of God)
But who could say that the imprint of the creator is the full creator? The story and the song capture only a single projected dimension of the creator. They do not capture the full person. They cannot. For once again, they are not made of the same stuff that the creator is made of. They cannot have his flesh, his blood, or his evolving states of mind after he first created them.
And so, too, it must be with the Word. For the Word was not a man, but the Word projected a single dimension of itself down into manhood. What we see in Jesus Christ does give us a glimpse at God, but it as flattened and narrow a view of God as the opinions and ideas in a story are a flattened and narrow view of their author.
You are right now receiving my ideas in this post, but think how much separation there is from these ideas to the actual, full me. Think of how much you still do not know about who and what and how I am. How insufficient these words would be to recreate me in the flesh. And then consider that these flat, limited ideas are to me as Jesus Christ is to God.
Thus, if you ever feel that you lack a full conception of God, is it any wonder why? We may know abstractly that He is our creator and that He is good and that He is worthy of our obedience, but none of us can really know Him at all, and we never will in this mortal life. The magnitude of God’s being is beyond incomprehensible. It could not be told in all the space and time of this entire universe because, after all, this entire universe is but an idea within His mind.