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55
Should Jesus be worshipped?
by Melody in
1. watchtower
2. bible
can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.
aqwsed12345

@Earnest
The use of the anarthrous θεός in both the NT and patristic Greek does not automatically mean “a god” in the sense of a lesser, separate deity. Greek grammar employs the anarthrous form for a variety of reasons: to express qualitative predicates, to indicate essence, or for purely syntactic or stylistic purposes. In the context of early Christian theology, and especially in soteriological statements (about salvation and deification), the anarthrous θεός almost always carries a qualitative force, not an indefinite or polytheistic sense. As leading grammarians and patristic scholars have repeatedly pointed out, the distinction between “the God” and “god” in these contexts is one of person (the Father versus the Son, or the Creator versus the creature) and nature (divine qualities or participation in divinity), not a division of ontological rank or the existence of multiple gods in the proper sense.
The doctrine of theosis—the transformative participation in the divine life by grace—is utterly different from the pagan or henotheistic idea of multiple gods. In Christian tradition, the Church Fathers consistently maintain the ontological distinction between the Creator and the creature. When Clement says, “the Word of God became man so that you may learn from man how man may become God” (ἵνα ἄνθρωπος γένηται θεός), this is always understood within the framework of grace: man is deified not by nature or essence, but by participation, through adoption and union with Christ. Gregory of Nyssa, Athanasius, Maximus the Confessor, and Augustine all stress that “becoming god” means sharing in the divine life through union with Christ, not becoming another, independent or rival god.
Moreover, as Catholic and Orthodox theology both clarify, deification (theosis) is never a literal identity with God’s essence. The Church Fathers use vivid metaphors (such as iron heated in fire, or the sharing of light), but always with the explicit qualification that humanity remains created and distinct from the uncreated essence of God. Athanasius’ famous dictum, “God became man that man might become god,” is always situated in this context of grace and participation, never polytheism or pantheism. As Augustine says, “we are made gods by participation, not by nature.”
When Clement and other Church Fathers use the anarthrous θεός in the context of “becoming god,” it does not refer to humans becoming “a god” in the sense of a second deity; rather, it refers to participation in divine life, becoming “godlike” or “divinized” by grace. The analogy is always participatory, not substantial. This is in sharp contrast to the use of θεός in reference to the Word in John 1:1c, where the qualitative sense asserts that the Logos possesses fully and inherently the very nature of God, not merely a share in divine attributes by adoption or grace.
Additionally, the idea that biblical or patristic writers were “henotheists” is refuted by their emphatic monotheism, rooted in the Hebrew Scriptures and fully affirmed in the Christian creeds. They repeatedly insist that there is only one true God, and all talk of “becoming god” or “gods” (e.g., Ps 82:6, Jn 10:34) is interpreted within the context of metaphor, adoption, or participation—never as a multiplication of independent deities.
Therefore, to suggest that the Church Fathers’ use of the anarthrous θεός supports an Arian or Watchtower reading of John 1:1c as “a god,” or as evidence of henotheism, is to misunderstand both the grammatical function of the anarthrous predicate and the theological content of Christian theosis. The distinction between the definite and anarthrous θεός in patristic texts never provides grounds for the existence of “multiple gods” or a subordinate class of divine beings. It expresses either the unique, fully divine status of the Son (as in John 1:1c, qualitatively: “the Word was fully God”), or the analogical, participatory sense in which creatures are elevated by grace (i.e., “becoming god” by sharing in the divine life, not by nature).
The consensus of patristic scholarship, and the entire trajectory of Christian dogma, is that the anarthrous θεός in these passages does not teach polytheism, henotheism, or ontological equivalence or similitude with the Creator. Rather, it teaches either the fullness of divinity in Christ or the elevation of the human by grace, always within the strict boundaries of monotheistic faith and the unbridgeable gap between Creator and creature. Any attempt to make these passages support the NWT’s “a god” rendering is both grammatically and theologically unsustainable.
55
Should Jesus be worshipped?
by Melody in
1. watchtower
2. bible
can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.
aqwsed12345

@Blotty
John 4:24 neither excludes Christ from worship nor establishes a “zero-sum” economy of devotion. Jesus is answering a Samaritan dispute about sacred geography; the point is that henceforth true worship is “in Spirit and in truth.” In Johannine idiom ἀλήθεια is not an abstraction but a person: “I am … the truth” (14:6). Worship “in truth” is therefore worship mediated by, and ordered around, the incarnate Logos. The Fourth Gospel immediately illustrates the point: the man born blind confesses “Lord, I believe,” and ἐπροσκύνησεν αὐτῷ—he worshipped Jesus, an action the evangelist records without censure (9:38). The narrative culminates when Thomas addresses the risen Christ “My Lord and my God!” (20:28). John 5:23 then supplies the theological key: the Father wills “that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father; whoever refuses such honor to the Son refuses it to the Father.” Far from delimiting Christ’s cultic status, John 4 prepares for it.
The Arian reading assumes John 4:24 establishes an exclusive worship of the Father, yet this overlooks the narrative arc of John’s Gospel, where Jesus positions himself as the focal point of true worship. The Samaritan woman’s question about the proper location of worship (Mount Gerizim or Jerusalem) is transcended by Jesus’ declaration that worship will now occur “in spirit and truth,” a shift not merely about interiority but tied explicitly to his own person. As Lozano notes in his analysis of John 9:38 (pp. 148–154), the healed man’s act of proskuneō toward Jesus is a climactic confession of faith, accepted without rebuke, aligning with Jesus’ self-identification as “the truth” (John 14:6). Far from excluding the Son, John 4:24 presupposes his mediatorial role: worship “in truth” is worship through Christ, who embodies the divine presence (cf. John 2:19–21, where Jesus is the new temple). The Arian isolation of this verse from its Christological framework distorts its meaning, ignoring how John consistently depicts Jesus as the recipient of worship (e.g., John 20:28, “My Lord and my God!”) within a monotheistic paradigm.
Psalm 45:7(6 MT) does not license addressing any Davidide as “God” in a polytheistic/henotheistic sense. The decisive witness is Hebrews 1:8, which cites the verse in the LXX form, “Your throne, O God, is for ever and ever,” and applies it to the Son. Modern translations that cumbersome the syntax into “God is your throne” are primarily driven by dogmatic discomfort, not by Hebrew grammar—the construct reading required is “extremely unusual” where a pronominal suffix is present, as specialists have long noted. Lozano’s monograph sums up the scholarly consensus: the author of Hebrews deploys the catena precisely to show that the Son is addressed with titles, functions and honors proper to YHWH, and that the angelic προσκύνησις of Hebrews 1:6 “most closely approximates the ideal celestial worship of God enthroned in heaven”.
he Hebrew text’s ambiguity (“Your throne, O God” versus “Your throne is God”) is resolved in Hebrews 1:8–9, where the NT explicitly applies this verse to the Son, identifying him as “God” (theos) in a fully divine sense, not a human king granted honorific divinity. Lozano’s discussion of Hebrews (pp. 164–185) highlights how the author contrasts the Son’s eternal throne with the angels’ subservience, commanding all angels to proskuneō him (Heb 1:6). This is not henotheism but a radical inclusion of Christ within God’s identity, fulfilling the psalm’s ultimate intent. The Arian suggestion that biblical writers were henotheists lacks evidence; Second-Temple Judaism fiercely guarded monotheism, and the NT’s application of divine titles to Jesus (e.g., YHWH texts like Joel 2:32 in Rom 10:13) reflects this continuity, not a departure into polytheism.
The vocative reading of Hebrews 1:8 has historically dominated not because of arbitrary theological preference but because it best fits the syntax and rhetorical parallelism with the surrounding verses, both in Hebrews and in the Septuagint version of Psalm 45:6 (44:7 LXX). The claim that the verb “is” is not present and can be supplied in various places in the clause is correct, but this is a common feature of classical and Koine Greek, which frequently omits the copula when the sense is clear. Context and expected usage—especially in royal or liturgical addresses—support the vocative reading. The construction “ὁ θρόνος σου, ὁ Θεός” finds its closest parallels in vocative utterances elsewhere in Greek literature, and to interpret ὁ Θεός here as nominative requires a forced, awkward syntax that is not natural for the context of direct address, especially in a passage framed by addresses to persons.
The attempt to make the definite article before Θεός determinative for the nominative reading is unconvincing. The presence or absence of the article with theos in the NT does not rigidly determine whether it is definite, qualitative, or vocative. Indeed, in the Septuagint and in the NT alike, the article can and does appear with vocatives, especially in poetic and elevated contexts. To assert otherwise is to ignore the flexibility and complexity of Koine usage, as has been thoroughly demonstrated in modern studies of Greek grammar.
Psalm 45 is undoubtedly a royal wedding psalm addressed, in its immediate context, to the Davidic king. However, this does not mean the psalm’s Christological application is illegitimate, nor does it preclude a higher, theological sense in which the king is addressed as God. The ancient Near Eastern context reveals that the Davidic king, as God’s anointed, stood in a unique covenantal relationship with YHWH, even being called God’s “son” (cf. Psalm 2:7). But nowhere is a merely human king called “God” in such an absolute and unqualified manner as occurs in Psalm 45:6. The explanations offered in various study Bibles and by certain commentators—that the king is called “god” only in a representative sense or as a courtly hyperbole—fail to do justice to the unique language of the psalm. When the NT author, under inspiration, selects this passage to describe Christ, he is not simply reproducing an honorific for an ancient king, but is presenting Christ as the eschatological fulfillment and the ultimate referent of the Davidic covenant.
The consistent testimony of the NT is that the OT passages about the Davidic king reach their fullness and proper meaning only in Christ (cf. Acts 2:29-36; Luke 1:32-33). The early Church, steeped in the Septuagint, recognized in such passages a typology that pointed forward to the Messiah’s divine status. The argument that calling Jesus “God” in this context is no more significant than calling an ancient Israelite king “god” is anachronistic and fails to appreciate both the Christological hermeneutics of the NT and the qualitative difference introduced by the resurrection and exaltation of Christ as “heir of all things” (Heb. 1:2).
The context of Hebrews 1 further militates against the anti-Trinitarian reading. The entire chapter is a sustained argument for the Son’s superiority over angels, employing a catena of OT quotations that ascribe to the Son prerogatives and honors reserved for God alone: the Son is “the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature” (v. 3); he is the Creator and Sustainer of all things (vv. 2-3, 10-12); he sits at God’s right hand (v. 3, 13); and he is worshiped by all angels (v. 6). In this context, the direct address of the Son as “God” (ho theos) is not an anomaly but the culmination of the author’s argument.
Appeals to “representative” language—wherein the king or Jesus is called “God” only as a regent or agent—fail to account for the unique absolute language and the immediate context of Hebrews 1:8-9. The passage does not merely attribute a functional role to the Son but ascribes to him the eternal throne and scepter of divine righteousness. The subsequent citation in Hebrews 1:10-12, which explicitly applies to the Son a passage about YHWH as Creator (Psalm 102:25-27), leaves no doubt that the author intends his audience to understand the Son as sharing fully in the identity and prerogatives of the one true God.
The frequent attempt to dilute the force of Hebrews 1:8 by reference to Jesus being “anointed” by God (v. 9) is equally misplaced. The anointing of the Messiah in Psalm 45 and its fulfillment in Christ does not entail ontological inferiority but points to the messianic office, a theme common to NT Christology. The anointed King of Psalm 2 is declared to be “begotten” of God (a title which, in the NT, is taken up in the highest sense in reference to the preexistent Son), yet he is the object of the nations’ worship and the possessor of universal dominion. To say that Jesus’ anointing by God negates his deity is a category error, conflating the incarnational economy with the Son’s eternal divine status.
The oft-invoked analogue of 1 Chronicles 29:20 proves nothing. As Lozano observes, classical Greek freely uses a single finite verb with two objects of unequal status—divine and human—without implying identical reverence; the Chronicler’s audience knows that David is mortal whereas YHWH alone is the object of cult. The NT itself exploits that polyvalence: Peter rejects Cornelius’ prostration (Acts 10:25-26) and the angel forbids John’s (Rev 19:10; 22:8-9), establishing a literary contrast by which Jesus’ ready acceptance of προσκύνησις marks him out as sharing the divine identity. The Chronicler distinguishes between divine worship (proskuneō to YHWH) and royal homage (proskuneō to David), with the king’s authority clearly derivative. Lozano notes (pp. 38–41) that such acts of reverence to humans in the OT never blur the Creator-creature divide, unlike the NT’s portrayal of Jesus. In Revelation 5:13–14, by contrast, the Lamb shares the divine throne and receives identical proskuneō and doxology with the Father, a unified worship that transcends mere homage. The Arian claim that this grouping under one verb implies a lesser worship for Jesus ignores the qualitative leap in the NT, where Christ’s proskuneō is cultic, not civil, as evidenced by its rejection when offered to Peter (Acts 10:25–26) or angels (Rev 19:10).
The argument that Mosaic Law’s elasticity allows worship of a human figure without idolatry if God commands it is irrelevant to the NT’s context. Under the old covenant, no human—king or otherwise—receives cultic worship; the Law (e.g., Deut 6:13) reserves this for YHWH alone. The NT, operating under the new covenant, presents Jesus not as a human intermediary but as the divine Son incarnate, worthy of proskuneō in a way that fulfills, not violates, monotheism. Lozano’s analysis across the Gospels demonstrates that Jesus’ acceptance of proskuneō (e.g., Matt 14:33; Luke 24:52; John 9:38) consistently signals his divine status, not a sanctioned human honor. The Arian appeal to pre-Christian flexibility thus fails to account for the Christological redefinition of worship in the new covenant.
The patristic citations appealed to as proto-Arian are no help to an Arian thesis. Justin Martyr explains to his pagan audience that Christians “worship [σεβόμεθα] the Fashioner of the universe” and that they do so through “the Son who came from Him and taught us these things” (1 Apology 13). Justin’s own liturgical description is explicit: in the Eucharist the community “chants hymns and prayers to the Father through the name of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (1 Apology 65–67), thereby coordinating the Three within a single act of worship. Origen is still clearer: Christians render “entire and undivided worship [σέβας ἀδιαίρετον] to the supreme God through His Son, the Logos” (Contra Celsum 8.12). “Through” (δι’) is no demotion; it is the same preposition Paul uses for creation itself (1 Cor 8:6). Patristic theosis texts do not flatten the Creator–creature distinction. When Clement says that “the Word of God became man in order that you might learn from Man how man might become god” (Prot. protr. 1.8), he is describing participatory transformation by grace, not an ontological elevation to unbegotten Deity; Clement expressly restricts latreía to the one uncreated God.
Origen’s theology, while complex and occasionally subordinationist in tone, does not deny the Son’s deity. In Contra Celsum 8.12, he asserts the Son is not a different God, but the same God as the Father, affirming a shared divine essence despite hierarchical language. Justin Martyr, in Dialogue with Trypho 56, calls the Son “another God” in a functional sense, yet in First Apology 13, he unequivocally includes the Son as worthy of worship alongside the Father, consistent with early Christian practice. The Arian claim of henotheism—worshipping multiple gods with one supreme—mischaracterizes these writers, who operated within a monotheistic framework that included the Son within the divine identity, not as a separate deity. Clement’s reference to “men becoming God” (Stromata 7.10) and Athanasius’ echo of this in On the Incarnation 54 (“He became man so that we might become God”) are soteriological, not ontological, statements about deification through participation in Christ, not an endorsement of Arian creaturely status. Lozano’s work (pp. 10–16) underscores this by tracing how proskuneō in the NT elevates Jesus beyond mere homage, aligning with patristic affirmations of his deity rather than a henotheistic dilution.
Appeal to Augustine’s latreía/proskýnēsis distinction is likewise misplaced. Augustine does reserve latreía for the sacrifice owed to God alone (City of God 10), yet Revelation applies that verb to the unified “throne of God and of the Lamb”: “His servants shall λατρεύσουσιν αὐτῷ” (22:3). Lozano rightly notes that the singular pronoun embraces both Father and Son within a single sovereignty and a single cultic service, contradicting attempts to confine latreía to the Father alone. Conversely, proskynēsis can indeed be illegitimately offered to idols or men (Dan 3; Matt 4:9-10); its very prohibition shows that in certain contexts it denotes the kind of honor that competes with God. The NT writers harness that semantic range to theological ends: every creature that mistakenly receives it rebukes the gesture, whereas Jesus consistently approves it. Greeven’s verdict still stands: “When the NT uses προσκυνεῖν, the object is always something—truly or supposedly—divine”.
The suggestion that biblical and patristic authors were “henotheists” misconstrues Second-Temple and early-Christian monotheism. Jewish monotheism distinguishes God from every created power by two exclusive prerogatives: sole sovereignty over all things and sole worthiness to receive cultic worship. The NT repeatedly extends both prerogatives to Christ (e.g., Col 1:15-20; Rev 5:13-14; Heb 1:2-3, 8-12). Precisely because the writers are committed monotheists, they must explain rather than negate their own devotional practice; their explanation is Christ’s inclusion within the unique divine identity. The Fathers follow suit: Justin, Origen, and even the highly philosophical Clement never speak of independent deities but of one God who is Father, Son and Spirit.
Ray Lozano’s exhaustive study closes by noting that every canonical author who depicts Jesus as the recipient of προσκυνέω does so in a way that uniquely associates him with the God of Israel and “presents him as a divine figure included with God as a legitimate recipient of the kind of worship … reserved for God alone”. The patristic writers simply continued that reading of Scripture. The Arian alternative can be maintained only by excising texts, redefining lexica in a circular fashion, and overlooking the unbroken liturgical witness of the church catholic. It therefore fails the tests of linguistic, literary and historical coherence, leaving the Nicene confession intact: to worship the Son is to worship the Father in the unity of the Spirit, for the one throne of God is shared by the Lamb.
Finally, the semantic distinction between proskuneō (general reverence) and latreuō (divine worship) as a bulwark against Christ’s worship is untenable. While latreuō is tied to temple service and never directly applied to Jesus in the Gospels, Revelation 22:3—“His servants will latreuō Him”—uses a singular pronoun for both God and the Lamb, indicating shared divine worship in the eschatological temple. Lozano (pp. 196–232) emphasizes that Revelation’s throne-room scenes equate proskuneō to Jesus with cultic worship, not mere obeisance, as seen in its rejection by angels and its universal scope (Rev 5:14). The Watch Tower’s rendering of proskuneō as “obeisance” for Christ but “worship” elsewhere lacks lexical support; standard lexica (BDAG, LSJ) and NT usage (e.g., Matt 28:17; Heb 1:6) confirm its cultic force when context demands, as it does with Jesus.
In conclusion, the Arian position misreads John 4:24 by isolating it from its Christocentric context, misrepresents early Christian writers as henotheists despite their monotheistic commitments, and misapplies Psalm 45:6 and 1 Chronicles 29:20 by ignoring their NT reinterpretation and narrative distinctions. The elasticity of worship under the Mosaic Law is irrelevant to the new covenant’s revelation of Christ as divine. The NT, as Lozano’s study affirms, presents Jesus as the proper object of proskuneō and, implicitly, latreuō, not as a secondary figure but as co-equal with the Father in the divine identity. Trinitarian theology does not fracture monotheism but fulfills it, recognizing that to worship the Son is to worship the one God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—in the fullness of his self-revelation. The Arian critique, rooted in selective exegesis and historical revisionism, cannot displace this canonical and theological coherence.
55
Should Jesus be worshipped?
by Melody in
1. watchtower
2. bible
can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.
aqwsed12345

@Wonderment
Your objection, which seeks to deflate the Christological force of John 5:23 by reducing it to a merely functional or representative “honor,” fundamentally misconstrues both the semantic intent of the Johannine text and the context in which it emerges. The claim that “honoring the Son” is not to be equated with the same quality or substance of honor due to the Father, but is only the reception of a delegated reverence on account of being God’s “venue of salvation,” is demonstrably at odds with the testimony of the text, the witness of early Christian exegesis, and the logic of Second Temple monotheism as appropriated by the New Testament.
First, the Greek text of John 5:23 (“ἵνα πάντες τιμῶσι τὸν υἱὸν καθὼς τιμῶσι τὸν πατέρα”) employs kathōs—“just as,” “in the same manner as,” or “to the same extent as”—which is unambiguous in its meaning. The Son is to be honored in the same way, with the same kind and degree of honor as the Father. The suggestion that this is merely a qualitative or relative honor—akin to the status of a royal ambassador—collapses in the face of the context, in which Jesus claims prerogatives that, in the Second Temple Jewish framework, are reserved exclusively to the God of Israel: the giving of life (vv. 21, 26), the exercise of final judgment (v. 22), and the reception of universal homage. Such a claim, in the strictest Jewish monotheistic setting, cannot be interpreted as the bestowal of a subordinate or representational dignity, for the very charge that triggers the ensuing discourse is that Jesus “made himself equal with God” (John 5:18)—a charge the Johannine narrative neither mitigates nor refutes but rather explicates and confirms.
The invocation of texts such as John 3:16, 1 Timothy 2:5, and 1 John 5:13 as evidence for Jesus’ mediatorial function does not, in any way, diminish the necessity of equal honor. Indeed, the unique mediatorship of Christ is itself predicated upon his ontological singularity as the incarnate Word. Only one who truly shares in the divine identity can serve as the perfect mediator between God and humanity, effecting reconciliation not as a mere intermediary creature but as one who participates fully in the being of the one he reveals and represents (see Heb 1:3; Col 1:19–20). The Son’s being “sent” by the Father does not imply inferiority, but reflects the economic missions that manifest the immanent relations of the Trinity in the history of salvation. The processions within God—begetting and spiration—are the eternal basis for the temporal missions; the Son is “sent” because he is eternally begotten, not because he is a created deputy.
This lexical maneuver, however, is unsustainable when scrutinized against the broader Johannine context and New Testament theology. In John 5:23, the purpose clause—“that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father”—is explicitly tied to the Father’s entrustment of all judgment to the Son (John 5:22). In Second Temple Judaism, judgment is a prerogative reserved exclusively for God, as seen in texts like Deuteronomy 1:17 (“judgment belongs to God”) and Psalm 50:6 (“God himself is judge”). By assigning this role to Jesus without qualification, the text elevates him beyond a mere representative. The Arian claim that Jesus executes the Father’s judgment as a delegated agent (citing Romans 2:16 and Acts 17:31) overlooks the implication: if judgment is inherently divine, the one who wields it universally must share in that divine authority, not merely reflect it. The honor demanded in John 5:23 is thus not derivative but commensurate with the Father’s, a point reinforced by the warning that failing to honor the Son equates to dishonoring the Father—a linkage implying unity of essence, not just purpose.
The Arian appeal to kathōs as denoting similarity rather than equality further falters when compared to its usage elsewhere in John. In John 10:30, Jesus declares, “I and the Father are one,” prompting accusations of blasphemy (John 10:33) because it suggests equality with God. The Arian dismissal of this unity as mere alignment of will, not essence, ignores the Jewish reaction and the narrative arc of John, which consistently positions Jesus within the divine identity (e.g., John 1:1, “the Word was God”). Similarly, in John 14:9, "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father," and John 17:21, where Jesus prays for disciples to be one "just as" he and the Father are one, the kathōs construction points to a profound unity. While the Arian notes that disciples are not divine, this misses the distinction: the unity of believers mirrors the Father-Son relationship analogically, whereas the Son’s unity with the Father is foundational, enabling that analogy. The Trinitarian reading of kathōs in John 5:23 as indicating equal honor aligns with this pattern, supported by standard commentaries like Barnes, who notes that honoring the Son "even as" the Father denotes "religious homage" due to God, implying equality.
The patristic and medieval commentators are virtually unanimous in reading John 5:23 as an explicit assertion of the Son’s consubstantiality and co-equality with the Father. As Barnes rightly notes, the honor to be rendered is not merely civil, nor is it limited to the acknowledgment of messianic function. Rather, it is the same “religious homage” due to God; to withhold it from the Son is to withhold it from the Father, for the Father has willed that his Son should be honored “even as” he himself is. Matthew Henry, Poole, Gill, and the rest—Protestant and Catholic alike—see in this verse not the accommodation of a subordinate “venue of salvation,” but the crystallization of the early Christian conviction that Jesus is worthy of worship as God.
The very structure of John’s Gospel refutes the notion that Jesus’ honor is merely functional or representative. Thomas’s confession (“My Lord and my God!”—John 20:28), the worship of the risen Christ (e.g., Matt 28:9, 17; John 9:38), and the coordination of the Son with the Father and the Spirit in the baptismal formula (Matt 28:19) are intelligible only if the Son is recipient of the same cultic devotion as the Father. The charge that “Trinitarians fail to honor the Father as they honor the Son” is an unsubstantiated assertion rooted in a misunderstanding of orthodox Trinitarian doctrine. In classical Christian theology, the worship of the Son is not a zero-sum affair that detracts from the Father; rather, as Jesus himself insists, “whoever does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent him.” The veneration of Christ is not a detour around the Father, but the divinely willed and instituted mode by which the Father is known and glorified (see John 14:6–9).
The logic of the Gospel is not that Jesus is to be “welcomed as if he were God” while in reality remaining external to the divine identity, but that in welcoming and honoring Jesus, the believer is, in fact, encountering the one true God manifest in the flesh. John 1:1, 18; 8:58; 10:30–33; 14:9–11; and the entire corpus of high Christology in the New Testament make this point explicit: Jesus is not a merely functional “venue of salvation,” but the definitive self-revelation of the God of Israel.
The persistent attempt to relativize the honor due to the Son not only fails exegetically and theologically but stands in open contradiction to the narrative arc of John and the unanimous liturgical and doctrinal tradition of the apostolic and patristic church. To refuse the Son the same honor as the Father is, according to the Johannine witness, to refuse the Father himself. The only conclusion compatible with the text, its historical context, and the church’s rule of faith is that Christ is to be accorded the same undivided adoration, worship, and honor as the Father—not in a mitigated, “as if” sense, but in the full reality of his divine personhood.
The Arian critique also invokes Old Testament precedent, arguing that figures like David were “worshiped” alongside Yahweh (1 Chronicles 29:20) without being divine, suggesting a parallel with Jesus. Yet this misreads the text. In 1 Chronicles 29:20, the Hebrew wayyištḥawû ("they bowed down") applies to both Yahweh and the king, but the context—a public assembly blessing God and acknowledging David’s reign—distinguishes cultic worship of Yahweh from civil homage to David. The Septuagint renders this with proskuneō for both, but its semantic range, as noted in BDAG and LSJ, spans from reverence to divine worship, determined by context. Here, David receives no sacrificial rites or doxology, and his mortality is soon emphasized (1 Chronicles 29:28). Contrast this with Revelation 5:13-14, where the Lamb (Jesus) shares the throne and receives identical praise—“blessing, honor, glory, and power”—with the Father, a scene echoing Isaiah 45:23’s divine prerogative. The Arian assertion that this is “relative honor” collapses under the unified grammar and cosmic scope, which no Old Testament figure, even David, approaches.
The Hebrew shachah and the Greek proskuneō indeed have a semantic range that includes both veneration and cultic worship. However, in Israel’s strict monotheistic context, only YHWH was the fitting recipient of cultic, liturgical worship, and the canonical record is unambiguous in its condemnation of offering this kind of honor to anyone but God (e.g., Exod 20:3-5; Deut 6:13-15). Instances of courtly prostration before kings (e.g., 1 Chr 29:20) do not abrogate this fundamental norm, as the narrative, liturgical, and theological contexts always sharply delimit the honor given to human rulers from the exclusive worship given to God. The king, even David or Solomon, is always subordinate, mortal, and strictly never receives prayer, sacrifice, or doxology in the manner YHWH does. By contrast, in the New Testament, the worship of Jesus ascribes to him all the attributes and honors of YHWH, including creation, judgment, the power to forgive sins, and the reception of prayer and liturgical acclamation (see Rev 5:13-14, where “every creature” worships both “him who sits upon the throne and the Lamb,” with no hint of distinction).
The Old Testament “prophetology” argument, that prophets and kings are “worshipped” and called “lord,” must also be rejected on canonical and theological grounds. Nowhere is cultic, divine worship (i.e., the offering of prayer, hymns, or doxological acclamation) directed to prophets or kings; at most, they receive homage or obedience in their office, never the religious veneration reserved for God alone. The Psalms and prophetic texts cited by the objector are often messianic in their trajectory (e.g., Psalm 2, Psalm 45, Psalm 110), and their highest language is ultimately fulfilled in the divine Messiah, Jesus Christ, as the unanimous patristic and liturgical tradition attests.
The Arian claim that Jesus’ role as one “sent” (apostellō) negates divinity is a non-sequitur. In John, the sending motif (e.g., John 5:30, 7:16) underscores Jesus’ obedience to the Father’s will, not subordination in essence. Trinitarian theology distinguishes the economic Trinity (roles in salvation) from the immanent Trinity (eternal being), a nuance the Arian flattens. Jesus’ statement, “I can do nothing on my own” (John 5:30), reflects his incarnational dependence, not ontological inferiority, as evidenced by John 1:1 and Philippians 2:6-7, where his preexistent equality with God precedes his self-emptying. The Arian analogy to ambassadors receiving honor “as” their sender fails, for no human envoy claims divine titles (e.g., “Lord,” John 20:28) or receives universal worship without rebuke (cf. Acts 10:26, Revelation 19:10).
The core claim of the Arian objector is that John 5:23 simply means the Son is to be “honored as a representative,” in the same way that an ambassador is honored as one honors the king, and that the Greek kathōs does not require equality, but only similarity or adequacy of honor. This, we are told, is bolstered by Old Testament passages where human kings receive proskynesis or are “worshipped” alongside God, by New Testament statements about Christ being sent, and by early church practices of honoring bishops.
The text and context of John 5:23 do not support this reductionist reading. John’s Gospel is consistently high in its Christology, from the prologue (“the Word was God”) through its culminating confessions (e.g., “My Lord and my God!” John 20:28), and nowhere is this clearer than in the very passage under dispute. The setting is a controversy over Jesus’ claim to prerogatives that are, for any Second Temple Jew, uniquely divine: the authority to give life, to execute final judgment, and to receive the very honor owed to the Father. The logic of John’s argument is that the Father “has given all judgment to the Son, so that all may honor the Son just as (kathōs) they honor the Father.” This is not mere functional representation, but a deliberate theological identification: the Son is included in the singular, undivided divine honor that, in the Old Testament, is strictly reserved for YHWH (see Isa 42:8: “My glory I give to no other”). The structure is not distributive (“honor the Father, and also honor His agent”), but participatory and coextensive: the honor due to the Son is to match, in kind and degree, the honor due to the Father. This is underscored by the subsequent warning: “Whoever does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent Him.” In Johannine theology, to withhold worship from the Son is not mere discourtesy to the king’s ambassador; it is outright refusal to honor the King Himself, because the Son is one with the Father (John 10:30).
The attempt to dilute kathōs (“just as”) into a vague indicator of similarity rather than equality is linguistically and contextually flawed. While kathōs can, in some constructions, denote resemblance or analogy, in John 5:23 it marks the explicit criterion and measure of the honor due: not “honor the Son in some comparable way,” but “honor the Son in the same way.” This is reinforced by parallel uses elsewhere in John where the language, though capable of analogical extension, is inextricably tied to ontological or qualitative identity (e.g., “just as the Father has loved me, so I have loved you” [John 15:9]; “that they may be one just as we are one” [John 17:22]). Moreover, as the best patristic and Reformation commentators recognize, it is precisely the radical nature of this claim that caused Jesus’ Jewish opponents to charge him with blasphemy and making himself “equal with God” (John 5:18).
The invocation of “agency” or “representation” as the exhaustive category for Christ’s role fails to account for the full witness of John and the New Testament as a whole. Jesus is not merely a sent emissary acting on delegated authority, as the text makes clear in John 5:26: “For as the Father has life in himself, so he has granted the Son also to have life in himself.” The Son possesses “life in himself”—an exclusively divine prerogative—by virtue of his relationship with the Father, not by mere commission. Similarly, in John 1:1-3, the Son is identified as the eternal Word who is both with God and is God, the one through whom all things were made. The giving of judgment to the Son (John 5:22) is not simply functional delegation but the manifestation in history of the Son’s eternal relation to the Father.
The claim that Jesus “gives away” his glory to his disciples in John 17:22 is a fundamental misunderstanding of the Johannine idiom of “glory.” The glory that Christ bestows upon his followers is not identity with his divine nature, but participation by grace in the filial communion he enjoys with the Father. The entire context of John 17 is the Son’s unique relationship to the Father, and the “glory” given to the disciples is their adoption into this communion through union with Christ. The distinction between “created participation” and “uncreated essence” is a staple of Christian theology and precludes any flattening of categories. The glory of the Son is eternal, the glory given to believers is derivative and participatory (see 2 Peter 1:4: “partakers of the divine nature”—not partakers of the divine identity).
Regarding the application of titles such as “Lord” (kurios, adonai) to both God and human figures, it must be noted that in the Old Testament, “Lord” as a title is sometimes used for human masters or rulers, but the New Testament’s consistent ascription of kurios to Jesus, especially in doxological and soteriological contexts, draws on the Septuagintal practice of using kurios to translate the Tetragrammaton (YHWH). When the New Testament authors acclaim “Jesus is Lord,” this is not merely bestowing honorifics, but identifying him with the God of Israel.
The argument that delegated authority nullifies ontological identity is also misplaced. In the economy of salvation, the Son is “sent” by the Father, but this sending presupposes his preexistence, divinity, and participation in the Father’s being (“the Word was with God, and the Word was God”). The biblical motif of “sending” does not reduce the sent one to a mere creature, but in the case of the Son, manifests the eternal Trinitarian life into which believers are incorporated.
In conclusion, the context, language, and theological trajectory of John 5:23, together with the wider canonical pattern, exclude the possibility that Jesus is to be honored merely as a representative or a prophet. The honor and worship owed to the Son are the honor and worship owed to the one God of Israel, revealed in the communion of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. To honor the Son is to honor the Father; to withhold worship from the Son is to repudiate the Father. Any attempt to deny the Son his divine honor is not fidelity to monotheism, but a refusal of the fullness of the biblical revelation. As John 5:23 and its authoritative commentators declare, “He who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent him.” This is not an innovation, but the very heart of Christian faith and worship.
The Arian reinterpretation of John 5:23 as mere representational honor collapses under the weight of its immediate context, the Johannine portrayal of Jesus’ divine identity, and the New Testament’s cultic devotion to him. The Trinitarian affirmation that Jesus is to be worshiped as God coheres with the biblical data and early Christian practice, rendering the Arian objection a selective misreading that cannot sustain its denial of Christ’s divinity.
John 5:23, properly read, does not provide cover for Arian subordinationism or a diminished Christology. It is a cornerstone of Trinitarian dogma, a proclamation that the one God of Israel is now to be worshipped in the face of Jesus Christ, to the glory of the Father, in the Holy Spirit. Any attempt to dilute or evade this truth stands not only against the witness of Scripture but also against the very logic of Christian faith, worship, and salvation.
55
Should Jesus be worshipped?
by Melody in
1. watchtower
2. bible
can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.
aqwsed12345

@Wonderment
Your argument presumes a zero-sum dynamic between the Father and the Son, as though exclusive devotion to the Father were logically or theologically incompatible with the full, cultic worship of the Son. John 4:23 is not an exclusion of the Son from worship, but rather sets the stage for a new mode of worship, “in Spirit and in truth,” inaugurated by the coming of Christ. In Johannine theology, “truth” is not a mere abstraction; it is intimately bound to the person of Jesus, who unambiguously declares, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). Far from relativizing the Son or reducing Him to a mere conduit, this identification means that the very act of true worship is now mediated through and oriented by Christ Himself. Hence, the same Gospel repeatedly depicts Jesus as the recipient of proskynesis—formal acts of worship—which He never rebukes (John 9:38; cf. John 20:28). If Johannine Christology intended to delimit worship to the Father alone, this narrative and theological motif would be inexplicable.
The citation of Luke 4:8 likewise fails as an Arian prooftext. Jesus is here quoting Deuteronomy 6:13, affirming the Shema and the monotheistic devotion that defines Israel’s worship. Yet, what the objector overlooks is that the entire shape of NT devotion to Christ is forged precisely within this monotheistic matrix. The earliest Christians, themselves monolatrous Jews, would have recoiled at any suggestion of creaturely worship that rivaled God. Yet the canonical texts—especially Revelation 5:13-14—portray the Lamb as enthroned alongside the Father, receiving the same doxological acclamation, the same proskynesis, the same universal blessing, honor, glory, and power “forever and ever.” The language is not distributive but unitive: a single throne, a single worship, a single sovereignty. The divine prerogatives that belong to the Lord God of Israel are, astonishingly, extended to the Son without any hint of rivalry or diminution. The singular grammar of Revelation 22:3—“his servants will worship him”—further demonstrates that the Father and the Lamb are recipients of the same cultic service.
Moreover, the Arian reading misrepresents the logic of Trinitarian theology. The doctrine does not posit three gods, nor does it teach a division of the divine essence. Rather, the one God exists eternally as three co-equal and co-eternal Persons, such that to worship the Son is not to draw honor away from the Father but to honor the Father as He has revealed Himself—in the Son and by the Spirit. As Jesus Himself declares in John 5:23, “That all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father. Whoever does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent him.” This is not a statement of “relative honor” but of equal, unqualified, and divine honor. The economic mission of the Son—His incarnation, ministry, and mediatorial work—unfolds within the unity of the divine will and does not negate His intrinsic divinity or His worthiness of worship.
Furthermore, the worship offered to Christ in the NT is not merely that of honor or respect, but of the cultic, doxological adoration owed to God alone. Thomas’s acclamation, “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28), is not an aberration but the climactic confession of the Johannine narrative. The hymnic traditions in Philippians 2:6-11 and Colossians 1:15-20 explicitly ascribe to Christ the name, authority, and creative prerogatives of the Lord God. The cosmic liturgy of Revelation crowns this witness, culminating in the prostration of every creature before both the Father and the Lamb.
In conclusion, the objection that Jesus’ direction of worship to the Father in a few isolated texts precludes the worship of the Son simply does not withstand the force of the full canonical and theological evidence. The NT’s vision is not one of competitive devotion, but of an integrated, tri-personal worship wherein to worship the Son is, by divine appointment and self-revelation, to worship the Father. The earliest Christian communities—composed of strict monotheists—consistently rendered cultic adoration to Christ precisely because they recognized Him as the definitive manifestation of Israel’s God. To deny the Son this worship is not to uphold biblical monotheism, but to rend asunder the unity of revelation and to impoverish the faith delivered once for all to the saints. The Church’s unwavering confession, expressed in creed, canon, and liturgy, remains: “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.”
55
Should Jesus be worshipped?
by Melody in
1. watchtower
2. bible
can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.
aqwsed12345

@slimboyfat
I didn’t deny that προσκυνέω appears in 1 Chr 29:20; I said its presence there proves only courtly homage, not cultic worship—the very point I clarified in the follow-up. If you read the few lines comparing that scene with Revelation 5, you’ll see why lexical overlap does not erase the theological gulf between bowing before a mortal king and the cosmic doxology offered to the enthroned Lamb.
55
Should Jesus be worshipped?
by Melody in
1. watchtower
2. bible
can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.
aqwsed12345

@slimboyfat
The NT presents a coherent and internally consistent theology of Christ’s cultic status that cannot be flattened into the sub-divine categories proposed in contemporary Arian restorations such as those circulated by the Watch Tower Society. Central to this debate is the semantic and theological weight of προσκυνέω (proskuneō) and λατρεύω (latreuō), as well as the canonical pattern of doxological coordination in which the Father and the Son are yoked under a single divine sovereignty. When the relevant texts are allowed to speak in their own literary and historical context, three conclusions emerge: (1) the early Christian writers consciously ascribed to Jesus the worship reserved in Second-Temple Judaism for the one God of Israel; (2) the Watch Tower’s lexical strategy—rendering proskuneō as “obeisance” whenever Jesus is the recipient—represents a theologically motivated mistranslation; and (3) the doctrinal trajectory of the Society itself confirms that its current negation of Christ-directed worship is a late innovation, rather than a recovery of apostolic practice.
Hebrews opens the discussion by framing the Son’s identity against the backdrop of Israel’s strictly monotheistic confession. The entire catena of OT quotations in chapter 1 culminates in the Father’s decree: “Let all the angels of God proskuneō Him” (Heb 1:6). No linguistic contortion can evade the force of the verb. Within Hebrews the angels are λειτουργικὰ πνεύματα, subordinate ministers who render service; they are nowhere depicted as objects of cultic honor. Conversely, the Son is enthroned, addressed as “God,” and acclaimed as the eternal creator whose scepter of righteousness anchors the cosmos. By commanding the heavenly host to worship the Firstborn, the author transfers to Jesus the prerogative that Deuteronomy and Isaiah reserve for YHWH alone. The text does not merely tolerate reverence for Christ; it demands it as the fitting response of the entire supernatural order.
The Apocalypse of John intensifies the pattern. In the throne-room vision of chapters 4–5 the same concentric liturgy that crescendos in hymns to the Creator is repeated verbatim in honor of the Lamb. Whereas proskuneō might in some settings denote courtly homage, Revelation removes all ambiguity by embedding the Lamb within the divinely occupied throne, assigning to Him the seven-horned omnipotence and seven-eyed omniscience that define God’s exhaustive sovereignty, and receiving from every creature “the blessing and the honor and the glory and the dominion for ever and ever” (Rev 5:13). The claim that verse 13 reflects merely relative honor collapses on grammatical and canonical grounds. John employs the singular pronouns “Him” and “His” while explicitly naming both “God” and “the Lamb,” signaling not a division of worship but a shared divine identity. Throughout the book attempts by humans or angels to receive worship are rebuked, whereas the Lamb’s reception of universal praise is narrated as the final act of unpolluted eschatological worship.
The lexical objection—that proskuneō is a neutral gesture of obeisance rather than worship—is linguistically unsustainable. Septuagintal usage repeatedly links proskuneō with sacrificial cult (e.g., Exod 20:5; 34:14) and distinguishes it from mere subservience by its exclusive orientation to deity. Early Jewish translators had at their disposal verbs such as προσπίπτω or κάμπτω to mark respectful bowing. Their consistent choice of proskuneō in monolatrous contexts reflects a theological judgment that the term entails recognition of deity. The Watch Tower’s own interlinear testament betrays the inconsistency: demons, the Beast, and even idols receive the rendering “worship,” whereas every Christological occurrence is down-graded to “obeisance.” Such selectivity cannot be justified philologically; it is a priori dogma imposed on the text.
Latreuō, the Watch Tower’s second line of defense, fares no better. The verb’s OT matrix evokes priestly service at the sanctuary, and its Christian transposition locates that service in the heavenly temple where “His servants shall latreuō Him; they shall see His face” (Rev 22:3–4). The singular pronoun again binds God and the Lamb as co-occupants of the one throne. Hebrew 9–10 explicitly contrasts earthly cultus, rendered obsolete, with the latreia Christ performs as High Priest in the true tabernacle. To argue that absence of the verb latreuō in reference to Jesus proves His ontological inferiority disregards the author’s logic: Christ does not receive priestly service because He Himself is the cosmic Priest who elicits the same worship directed to the Father.
Historical considerations reinforce the exegetical evidence. For more than six decades the Watch Tower literature openly encouraged prayer to and worship of Christ, and the Society’s 1945 charter defined one of its corporate purposes as “the public worship of Almighty God and Christ Jesus.” Only in 1954—subsequent to the release of the New World Translation—did the governing body reverse course, retroactively stigmatizing Christ-directed devotion as idolatry. This trajectory exposes the fragility of the Arian proposal: if worship of Christ were self-evidently illicit, how did the movement’s founders, editors, and legal charter uphold it for the greater part of their history without censure from the divine “channel”? The progressive diminution of the Son within Watch Tower theology reflects institutional revision, not apostolic continuity.
The earliest post-biblical witnesses corroborate the NT pattern. Ignatius, writing scarcely a decade after Revelation, speaks of “Jesus Christ our God” and envisions the church “singing with one voice a song to the Father through Jesus Christ.” Polycarp’s dying confession blesses Christ as the Paschal victim “through whom” glory is given to the Father. Such unselfconscious Christological devotion emerged within a rigorously monotheistic environment. It is explicable only on the premise that the earliest believers experienced the risen Jesus not as an exalted creature but as the embodied disclosure of Israel’s God.
The charge of “flowery nonsense” dissolves once the textual data are handled with the same precision demanded in any philological debate. Yes, the Old Greek of 1 Chronicles 29:20 does in fact employ προσκυνέω twice: καὶ προσεκύνησαν τῷ Κυρίῳ καὶ τῷ βασιλεῖ. My earlier point—perhaps expressed too tersely—was not that προσκυνέω is absent, but that its semantic force cannot be decided merely by noting the verb’s presence. In the Septuagint corpus προσκυνέω functions across a spectrum that ranges from courtly obeisance (Gen 33:3; 4 Kings 1:13 LXX) to exclusive cult directed to God (Exod 20:5; Isa 66:23). Distinguishing where a particular instance falls in that range requires attention to literary context, syntactic construction, and, crucially, the wider canonical theology that prohibits Israel from offering cultic worship to any figure other than YHWH.
First Chronicles 29 frames the scene as a dynastic acclamation: the assembly “blessed the LORD, the God of their fathers, and bowed low and prostrated themselves before the LORD and the king.” David, despite the conspicuous honor, neither receives sacrificial rites nor hears a doxology that conflates him with God. The narrative immediately records his handing the throne to Solomon and dying like all mortals (29:23–28), underscoring the qualitative gulf between royal homage and divine worship. Modern translations that render the second object “paid homage to the king” (NRSV, NJPS) or “prostrated themselves…before… the king” (NET) capture this differentiation not by denying that προσκυνέω appears, but by recognizing its elasticity.
The contrast with the NT cult of Christ is therefore not lexical but configurational. In Revelation 5 the heavenly liturgy places the Lamb on the divine throne, assigns to him the seven-horned omnipotence and seven-eyed omniscience that the same book attributes to God, and elicits from every creature a single ascription of εὐλογία, τιμή, δόξα, and κράτος εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων. No king of Israel—or of any other nation—is ever enthroned in that manner or enveloped in that form of universal doxology. The Lamb’s reception of worship is embedded in a narrative framework that otherwise prohibits angelolatry (Rev 19:10; 22:8-9) and idol worship. The conclusion drawn by the Seer’s first readers, steeped as they were in Jewish monolatry, was not that Jesus inhabits a lesser, civil sphere of honor but that he mysteriously shares the very prerogatives of the one God.
Consequently, the appeal to 1 Chronicles 29 does not advance an Arian construal of Christ. It merely reminds us that προσκυνέω is a polyvalent verb. What distinguishes the Johannine Lamb from David is not the presence or absence of that term but the narrative location in which it is deployed: a shared throne, a unified doxology, and the voluntary acquiescence of all creation. Those elements constitute worship in the strict sense that Second-Temple Jews reserved for YHWH alone. Lexical arithmetic cannot erase the theological architecture built into the text.
In sum, the linguistic, canonical, and historical data converge on a single verdict: the Son is to be worshipped. Any theology that demotes Christ to the status of archangel or created mediator must either excise or mistranslate swathes of Scripture, alter the liturgical voice of earliest Christianity, and retroject its own twentieth-century innovations onto the first century. The prophetic command still stands—“Kiss the Son lest he be angry”—and the doxology of the redeemed will eternally resound: “To Him who sits upon the throne, and to the Lamb, be blessing and honor and glory and dominion for ever and ever.”
55
Should Jesus be worshipped?
by Melody in
1. watchtower
2. bible
can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.
aqwsed12345

The question of whether Jesus of Nazareth ought to receive the cultic devotion that the New Testament directs exclusively to the God of Israel can scarcely be adjudicated by appealing to isolated proof-texts or by counting lexical occurrences. A cogent answer requires an integrated consideration of (1) the semantic range of the Greek worship-verbs proskuneō and latreuō, (2) the literary strategy by which the canonical authors embed Jesus within the unique divine identity, (3) the continuity between the earliest post-apostolic liturgy and the New Testament witness, and (4) the history of interpretation behind the Watch Tower Society’s ever-shifting stance. When these lines of evidence are allowed to converge, the cumulative case for the propriety—and indeed the necessity—of worshipping Christ emerges with overwhelming clarity.
Any lexical inquiry must begin with proskuneō, a term whose basic sense in Hellenistic Greek is “to fall down before” a superior. Because the act could be rendered to God, an exalted human, or even an idol, the context alone determines whether the gesture is mere courtly homage or cultic worship. The New World Translation’s policy of rendering proskuneō as “obeisance” in every Christological context but as “worship” when the recipient is God, demons, Satan, or idols therefore begs the very question at issue; it is not exegesis but theological circularity. Standard critical lexica (BDAG, LSJ) recognize no semantic bifurcation that would justify this selective translation practice, and reputable modern versions (e.g., NRSV, NASB, ESV) translate the verb uniformly as “worship” in, for example, Matthew 2.11; 14.33; 28.9; John 9.38; Hebrews 1.6. Crucially, in those pericopes Jesus either formally accepts the act (John 9.38), implicitly approves it by silence (Matt 14.33), or is identified by a heavenly voice as the proper object of angelic proskunēsis (Heb 1.6 citing LXX Deut 32.43). By contrast, when Cornelius prostrates himself before Peter (Acts 10.25-26) or John before an angel (Rev 19.10; 22.8-9) the gesture is explicitly rejected. The literary trope is transparent: Jesus belongs on the recipient side of worship, apostles and angels do not. The Watch Tower position that proskuneō directed to Jesus reduces to polite homage is therefore unsustainable.
Latreuō, frequently invoked as the decisive counter-argument because the verb never describes service rendered to Christ, provides no refuge. First, the distribution is readily explained by genre: latreuō is the Septuagintal and New Testament term of art for the temple cult, and the resurrected Christ does not serve as sacerdotal locus upon earth within the narrative horizon of the Gospels or Acts. Second, Hebrews and Revelation deliberately transpose latreuō heavenward: the final scene pictures “the throne of God and of the Lamb” with “his servants [hoi douloi autou] latreuousin autōi” (Rev 22.3), where the singular pronoun logically embraces both Father and Son under a single divine sovereignty. Third, the semantic argument overlooks that New Testament authors routinely apply to Christ titles, functions, and honours that the Hebrew Bible reserves for YHWH alone—Creator (John 1.3; Col 1.16-17), universal Judge (Matt 25.31-46; 2 Cor 5.10), object of prayer (Acts 7.59-60; 1 Cor 1.2), source of saving name invoked in baptismal confession (Acts 2.38; Rom 10.9-13 echoing Joel 2.32). Richard Bauckham’s programmatic work on divine identity has shown that such inclusion is the Second-Temple Jewish criterion for recognizing who is truly God; latreuō therefore cannot be isolated as the sole litmus test.
The attempted analogy with 1 Chronicles 29.20, sometimes marshalled to prove that a human king could be “worshipped” in a merely civil sense, collapses under textual scrutiny. The Masoretic Hebrew employs the verb shachah for both God and David, but shachah corresponds in the Septuagint not to proskuneō but to a broader semantic field, and modern critical translations judiciously render the second object “did homage to the king.” No Israelite author confuses the veneration of a mortal monarch with the cultic service owed to YHWH; indeed, the Chronicler’s theological agenda is to underscore that David’s throne functions only as the earthly extension of divine kingship. By contrast, the throne imagery of Revelation seats the Lamb on the very throne of God (Rev 5.6-14; 7.17; 22.1-3), signifying not delegated but shared sovereignty.
A further objection claims that Matthew 4.10 (“You shall worship the Lord your God and serve him only”) precludes the worship of Jesus because Jesus himself quotes the Shema to repel satanic temptation. Yet Matthew’s narrative logic achieves precisely the opposite. Having affirmed that only the Lord is to be worshipped, the evangelist proceeds within the same Gospel to portray the disciples offering Jesus proskuneō (14.33; 28.17) and to frame the climactic resurrection scene with a Trinitarian baptismal command (28.19). Matthew knows no contradiction because he identifies Jesus with the divine prerogative rather than setting him over against it.
The historicity question, periodically raised to evade theological implications by denying that the Jesus of faith corresponds to a historical personage, has been addressed decisively in contemporary scholarship across the critical spectrum. Bart Ehrman, a self-described agnostic, insists that Jesus’ existence is “abundantly attested in early sources”; Paula Fredriksen, Géza Vermes, and E. P. Sanders agree. While the canonical Gospels are technically anonymous, external attestation and internal evidence converge on the traditional attributions by the early second century, and the chronological gap between event and composition—roughly forty to sixty years—is well within the horizon of reliable ancient historiography. Moreover, the uncontested corpus of Pauline letters, written within a generation of the crucifixion, already presupposes a devotional pattern centered on the risen Lord that includes liturgical hymns (Phil 2.6-11; Col 1.15-20), eucharistic acclamation (1 Cor 11.26), and doxology (Rom 9.5). Thus, the worship of Christ is not a late Hellenistic accretion but belongs to the earliest stratum of Christian piety.
Patristic evidence corroborates this trajectory. Ignatius of Antioch—in undisputed letters dated c. 110 CE—calls Jesus “our God” (Eph. 18.2) and urges believers to “sing in unison a song to the Father through Jesus Christ” (Eph. 4.1). Justin Martyr’s First Apology (mid-second century) describes Christian liturgy as rendering “praise in word and prayer” to the Father and to the Son (Apol. 1.67). The substratum is entirely incompatible with any hypothesis that early Christians regarded Jesus as a creature who must not be accorded worship.
Against this broad consensus, the Watch Tower Society’s internal doctrinal oscillation stands in stark relief. From its inception under C. T. Russell until 1954, the movement explicitly encouraged prayer to—and worship of—Jesus, as documented in Zion’s Watch Tower (15 July 1898; 15 May 1906) and in the Society’s own Charter (amended 1945) which states that one corporate purpose is “the public Christian worship of Almighty God and Christ Jesus.” Only after the release of the New World Translation did the official teaching pivot, with the January 1 1954 Watchtower reclassifying worship of Jesus as idolatrous. The hermeneutical key, evidently, was not a newly discovered manuscript but an internally produced translation retrofitted to the Society’s evolving theology. The principle of “new light” invoked to justify such reversals cannot secure doctrinal stability, for by definition today’s light may be tomorrow’s darkness. A community whose governing authority claims the prerogative to redefine so central a datum as the proper recipient of worship forfeits any epistemic warrant to censure Trinitarian orthodoxy as later corruption.
In sum, the New Testament discloses a Christology that appropriates the language, prerogatives, and honors of Israel’s God for Jesus without compromising monotheism. Worshipping Jesus is not an optional devotional flourish but the liturgical enactment of that revelation. Attempts to restrict proskuneō or latreuō on lexical grounds unravel under critical analysis, and appeals to a supposed gradation of homage fail to respect the narrative logic by which Scripture itself demarcates acceptable from blasphemous veneration. The theological grammar of divine identity, the witness of the earliest post-biblical sources, and the unstable history of the Watch Tower’s own teaching together testify that withholding worship from Christ is not fidelity to the God of Abraham but a departure from the faith once delivered to the saints. To honor the Son is, as John 5.23 insists, the indispensable mode of honoring the Father, for the Father has chosen to make Himself known and to be glorified irrevocably in the face of Jesus Christ.
30
2 Peter 1: 1 Corruption in the NWT
by Sea Breeze in
1. watchtower
2. bible
here's how this verse should read: simeon peter, a servant and apostle of jesus christ, to those who have obtained a faith of equal standing with ours by the righteousness of our god and savior jesus christ: - 2 peter 1: 1. here's how watchtower prints this verse:.

simon peter, a slave and an apostle of jesus christ, to those who have acquired a faith as precious as ours through the righteousness of our god and the savior jesus christ: - nwt.

why did watchtower change this verse by adding the word "the" ?.
aqwsed12345

@Earnest
Your objection reduces to two propositions: first, that “common-sense” distributional evidence—namely the general use of ὁ θεὸς ἡμῶν for the Father—should override the grammar of a single-article TSKS clause whenever the titles appear capable of referring to different persons; and second, that the frequency of such clauses whose meaning is disputed (essentially Titus 2:13 and 2 Peter 1:1) licenses treating them as automatic exceptions to Granville Sharp’s canon. Both propositions collapse once the relevant linguistic data are weighed.
Koine Greek, like every natural language, encodes reference primarily by syntactic signals internal to the clause and only secondarily by pragmatic probability. In TSKS strings the decisive signal is article distribution. A single article placed before the first of two singular, personal, common nouns joined by καί binds the second noun inside the same determiner phrase. Where Greek authors wish to separate the referents they repeat the article, as Paul does in Gal 1:4 (τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ πατρὸς ἡμῶν) and as 2 Peter does one verse after the salutation (τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ Ἰησοῦ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν). Conversely, when they intend a single referent, they omit the second article—see 1 Thess 3:11, 2 Thess 1:12, or the LXX idiom ὁ θεὸς καὶ σωτήρ applied to Yahweh. Titus 2:13 and 2 Peter 1:1 match the latter pattern exactly: τοῦ μεγάλου θεοῦ καὶ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ and τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν καὶ σωτῆρος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. No native reader could miss the contrast between those clauses and the dual-article constructions that follow in the immediate context. To insist on dual reference is therefore to override the author’s explicit syntactic cue.
Sharp’s rule is not a theological mandate but a grammatical observation derived from consistent patterns in Koine Greek. It states that when two singular, personal, common nouns are joined by καί and governed by a single article, they typically designate a single referent. This is not a prescriptive imposition but a descriptive generalization, grounded in the syntactic behavior of the Greek article as a unifier of nouns within a single determiner phrase. Your assertion assumes the conclusion it seeks to prove: that “our God” and “Savior” in 2 Peter 1:1 and Titus 2:13 do refer to distinct persons (the Father and Jesus, respectively). Yet, this assumption cannot be used to dismiss the rule without first demonstrating, through unambiguous grammatical evidence, that the construction inherently supports dual reference in these specific cases. No such evidence is provided; instead, the argument leans on a circular claim that the referents must differ because they can differ, effectively begging the question. In Koine Greek, the presence of a single article signals unity unless clear contextual or syntactic factors override it—a condition unmet here, as both θεός (“God”) and σωτήρ (“Savior”) are singular, personal, common nouns, and no secondary article or explicit disjunction separates them.
The appeal to “common sense” distribution is linguistically misplaced. Frequency of a collocation in other contexts creates an interpretative expectation, but it does not annul the grammar of an individual sentence. Ὁ θεὸς ἡμῶν is indeed the Father’s customary title; that is what makes its deployment in these two Christological sentences striking. Languages regularly exploit established formulas in new reference assignments when context signals the shift—precisely what the shared article here accomplishes. The rarity of the shift is irrelevant; what matters is whether Greek provides the structural means to license it. It does.
Grammatical rules in any language, including Koine Greek, are not determined by the frequency of their application or by statistical prevalence alone but by their predictive reliability within defined syntactic constraints. Sharp’s rule has been rigorously tested across the NT and Hellenistic literature, with scholars like Daniel Wallace documenting over eighty examples where the TSKS construction with singular, personal, common nouns under a single article consistently indicates a single referent. You offered no counterexample from Koine Greek where such a construction unambiguously denotes two distinct individuals, a critical omission that undermines the claim. Titus 2:13 and 2 Peter 1:1 cannot serve as evidence against the rule, as their interpretation is precisely what is under dispute; citing them as exceptions without independent substantiation is fallacious, as it assumes the dual-referent reading rather than proving it. Far from being an arbitrary application “regardless of common sense,” Sharp’s rule aligns with the syntactic norms of the language, and dismissing it based on infrequency reflects a preference for theological intuition over linguistic analysis.
Nor is the claim of rarity accurate. In John 20:28 Thomas addresses the risen Jesus ὁ κύριός μου καὶ ὁ θεός μου; the doubled article there marks two titles of a single addressee, demonstrating that early Christian usage was prepared to transfer θεός + possessive to Christ when theological context warranted. Outside the NT, the second-century martyrdom résumé of Polycarp closes with δόξα τῷ θεῷ καὶ πατρὶ καὶ ἁγίῳ πνεύματι, a tripartite TSK(S) string in which the article is not repeated before the final noun, yet no one imagines that the Spirit is a different referent from the Father in that liturgical doxology. These parallels expose the fallacy of treating distributional frequency as a veto on syntactic evidence.
While it is accurate that “our God” generally designates the Father, this distributional pattern does not preclude its application to Jesus in contexts where the grammar and theology support such a shift. Language, particularly in theological discourse, is flexible, and the NT frequently reappropriates traditional terms to convey expanded Christological truths. For instance, in John 20:28, Thomas addresses Jesus directly as “my Lord and my God” (ὁ κύριός μου καὶ ὁ θεός μου), using possessive pronouns akin to “our God” and explicitly applying the title θεός to Jesus. This demonstrates that early Christian usage could, and did, extend divine titles to Christ, challenging your absolute claim that “our God” cannot refer to Jesus. Moreover, you overlook the immediate syntactic context of 2 Peter 1:1, where the single article governs both “our God” and “Savior,” followed by the appositive "Jesus Christ." This structure contrasts sharply with 2 Peter 1:2, where Peter uses a dual-article construction (τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ Ἰησοῦ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν) to distinguish God and Jesus. The deliberate variation within two verses suggests intentionality: Peter employs the single article in 1:1 to unite the titles and the dual articles in 1:2 to separate the referents, a pattern your interpretation fails to account for.
Treating Titus 2:13 and 2 Peter 1:1 as ad-hoc “exceptions” empties the notion of a grammatical rule. A rule stands until a counter-example is found that satisfies its formal conditions and unambiguously exhibits a contrary meaning. No such counter-example has been located in extant Greek. The two disputed verses are not counter-examples; their status is what is being tested, and that test must be conducted by the same grammatical criteria that govern the rest of the corpus, not by retreat into intuition once the data become theologically uncomfortable.
Your skepticism underestimates the dynamic nature of NT theology and the capacity of its authors to adapt language to their Christological purposes. Your position assumes a static referential norm—that “our God” must always mean the Father—yet the NT often applies OT divine descriptors to Jesus, reflecting a developing understanding of His identity. In Romans 10:13, Paul quotes Joel 2:32 (“everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved”) and applies it to Jesus, while Philippians 2:9-11 echoes Isaiah 45:23 to depict Jesus receiving universal worship, a prerogative of Yahweh. Similarly, in 2 Peter 1:1, the phrase “our God and Savior” parallels the OT’s “a righteous God and Savior” (Isaiah 45:21 LXX), suggesting Peter intentionally ascribes this divine title to Jesus. Your refusal to entertain this possibility dismisses the theological creativity evident across the NT, where syntactic cues, not just customary usage, guide interpretation. The absence of “our God” explicitly applied to Jesus elsewhere in Peter’s or Paul’s writings does not negate the grammatical force of the TSKS construction here; it merely highlights the significance of these instances as deliberate affirmations of Christ’s deity.
Your argument essentially begins with the premise that, since in other parts of Scripture it is the Father who is referred to as God, therefore, in this context, it cannot be the Son who is being called God. This line of reasoning, however, falls into the trap of circular logic. By assuming that only the Father can be called God based on other scriptural references, you are presupposing the very conclusion you aim to prove—that the Son cannot be referred to as God here either. This creates a circular argument because the premise relies on the conclusion being true without providing independent evidence. For example, it’s akin to arguing that a particular title, such as “king,” can only refer to one person because in other historical records, only that person is called king, thereby excluding the possibility of another person holding the same title in a different context. In doing so, you are using the conclusion as a premise, which undermines the argument’s validity.
On purely linguistic grounds, then, Sharp’s canon still governs these clauses. The authorial placement of the single article, reinforced by the immediate switch to dual-article syntax when distinct persons are intended, requires that “our God and Savior” in both passages is one referent, further identified by the appositive Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Distributional regularities elsewhere illuminate the force of the titles, but they do not overthrow the grammar that here joins them.
Ultimately, your rejection of Sharp’s rule rests on a preference for a preconceived theological framework—where Jesus cannot be “our God”—over the objective analysis of Greek syntax. The claim that “it is clear to me there are two referents” betrays a subjective judgment unsupported by linguistic evidence. Sharp’s rule does not depend on personal belief or theological comfort but on the consistent behavior of the TSKS construction in Koine Greek. You examples of “our God” referring to the Father elsewhere (Galatians 1:4, Ephesians 5:20, Philippians 4:20) are irrelevant to the grammatical question, as none involve a TSKS construction with a single article linking “God” and another noun. In contrast, the syntax of 2 Peter 1:1 and Titus 2:13—τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν καὶ σωτῆρος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ and τοῦ μεγάλου θεοῦ καὶ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ—meets Sharp’s criteria precisely, indicating a single referent, Jesus Christ. To override this with “common sense” based on distributional frequency is to allow theological bias to supplant exegesis, a methodological error that the NWT perpetuates by inserting an unwarranted second article. Your position thus fails to engage the grammatical data robustly, offering no compelling counterargument to the conclusion that these verses affirm Jesus as “our God and Savior.”
16
Col 2:16, the scripture that blows away all of WT's Pharasitical man-made rules and cult guilt trips
by WingCommander in
1. jw
2. friends
colossians 2:16.

"ironically enough, i never even knew about this bible verse until i had grown up and was pomo of the watchtower cult.

read it, then read it again.
aqwsed12345

The discussion around Colossians 2:16 and its devastating implications for the entire Jehovah’s Witnesses’ legalistic system of man-made prohibitions cannot be overstated. Here, in the heart of Pauline doctrine, lies a text that not only refutes but utterly demolishes the Watchtower’s endless list of forbidden celebrations, foods, drinks, and so-called “conscience matters”—all of which are designed to create an atmosphere of guilt, fear, and psychological bondage. “Therefore, do not let anyone judge you by what you eat or drink, or with regard to a religious festival, a New Moon celebration or a Sabbath day.” In a single inspired sentence, the Apostle Paul exposes the entire machinery of religious micromanagement for what it is: a betrayal of the Gospel’s liberating power.
When Saint Paul dictated his letter to the Colossians, he was confronting teachers who insisted that baptism into Christ was not enough. They pressed on the little flock a catalogue of ritual observances—dietary fasts, new-moon rites, sabbath prescriptions—claiming that only by these external badges could one hope to stand righteous before God. The Apostle’s answer was a thunderclap of evangelical freedom: “Let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food or drink or with regard to a festival, a new moon, or a sabbath. These are only a shadow of things to come, but the reality belongs to Christ” (Col 2:16-17).
Every earnest Bible reader recognises that Paul is not abolishing the moral law—he would still say, “Neither the immoral nor idolaters nor thieves will inherit the kingdom of God” (1 Cor 6:9-10). He is exposing the folly of letting self-appointed guardians bind consciences with pre-Messianic ceremonial rules once their prophetic purpose has been fulfilled in Jesus. The primitive Church therefore felt at liberty, in the living guidance of the Holy Spirit, to maintain or discard particular observances, to keep the Lord’s Day rather than the Mosaic sabbath, to share one common chalice in place of temple sacrifices, to celebrate the new Passover of the Eucharist and to rejoice yearly at Pentecost when the Spirit first descended on the Twelve—an echo of the Jewish Feast of Weeks, yet now transfigured by grace.
What, then, becomes of the modern Watchtower claim that these very words of Paul forbid Christians to cherish Christmas, Easter, Pentecost or any other festival? The inconsistency is glaring: the leadership that shames its members for a birthday cake or an anniversary card has simultaneously invented a calendar of its own—Memorial evening once a year, tightly regulated “circuit assemblies,” even a yearly commemoration of the organization’s corporate beginnings. The problem, evidently, is not the principle of sacred remembrance but the Watchtower’s allergy to anything it cannot police. Where the mainstream Chrianity sees in Paul’s verse a liberation from obsolete Jewish ritual while welcoming the spontaneous flowering of Christian feasts across time and culture, Jehovah’s Witnesses wrench the text into a pretext for another catalogue of prohibitions: do not salute the flag, do not accept a blood transfusion, do not sing a carol, do not buy a raffle ticket at the parish fête. The Apostle’s very antidote to legalism is re-purposed as fuel for further legalism.
What makes the Watchtower’s tactics so grotesque is the way it arrogates to itself a role that St. Paul explicitly condemns: the self-appointed arbiter of God’s grace, the spiritual police, lording it over the flock and enforcing the most minuscule, pharisaical rules. The irony is rich: the very sort of “judgmentalism” Paul denounces is what Jehovah’s Witnesses elevate to a way of life, and they do so with a straight face while branding themselves as “Bible students.” Imagine grown adults surrendering their consciences, their ordinary joys, and even the love they owe to their families, at the altar of anonymous, unreachable men in upstate New York, who dare to claim a monopoly on salvation and the right to dictate every detail of your existence.
It is no accident that Paul’s words are so comprehensive. Festivals? No one has the right to judge you. Food and drink? No one has the right to judge you. Sabbath observance? No one has the right to judge you. Yet the Watchtower not only judges, but metes out harsh punishment to those who dissent or simply exercise the liberty that Christ Himself won for us. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Christmas, Easter, even giving your child a birthday cake—these are all proscribed, policed, and treated as matters of eternal consequence. Why? Because in the end, the only way the Watchtower can maintain its authority is by manufacturing a sense of crisis, difference, and perpetual anxiety about one’s standing before God.
Yet Paul’s teaching leaves their system in ruins. The entire edifice of Watchtower control is revealed as a grotesque parody of the freedom of the children of God. “Let no one disqualify you,” he warns (Col 2:18), “insisting on self-abasement and the worship of angels, dwelling on visions, puffed up without reason by his sensuous mind.” Substitute “Governing Body” for “angels,” and the description could not be more apt. Where Christ calls us to sonship, the Watchtower calls you to servitude. Where the Church administers the sacraments as free gifts of divine grace, the Watchtower withholds everything except guilt.
Notice also the self-contradiction in their interpretation of “magoi” in Matthew 2. One breath they insist that the word must denote damned astrologers whom Satan lured by a counterfeit star; the next breath they quote Colossians to prove that God forbids any judgement against dietary or festival observance. Yet here they judge the Magi most severely—indeed, they judge nearly every Christian century as apostate for daring to rejoice at the Nativity of the Lord. Such selectivity betrays what truly motivates the governing body: not fidelity to Scripture, but the perpetual need to mark their followers as different, to isolate them from the Body of Christ and from ordinary human joys.
Christianity, conversely, does not fear creation. If a rib-eye steak may be enjoyed with thanksgiving (1 Tim 4:3-4), if wine makes the heart glad (Ps 104:15), then surely the rhythm of fasting and feasting, of Advent longing and Christmas exultation, of Lenten penance and Easter alleluia, is a wholesome participation in the redeemed cosmos. To be sure, Paul forbids us to treat festivals as if they purchased salvation. But he also commands, “Rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil 4:4), and Scripture itself records how the Holy Spirit descended on Pentecost precisely while the disciples were gathered for the liturgical festival that crowned the Passover season (Acts 2). First-century Christians did not abolish the feast; they discovered its fulfilment. Why, then, do Witnesses shrink from it? Because they cling to a truncated gospel. Shorn of sacramental life, their movement has nothing to celebrate beyond its own publishing statistics.
Colossians 2:16, read in its context, condemns the very posture the Watchtower adopts: it warns against men “puffed up without reason” who “insist on self-abasement” and who “disqualify” the faithful by measures God never commanded (v. 18). It is not the rhythm of the Church year that contradicts the Apostle, but the dreary spreadsheet of Watchtower taboos. Christian tradition, standing on the same Pauline foundation that shattered the yoke of the old law, proclaims the freedom of the children of God: a freedom ordered not to license, but to the worship of Christ in spirit and in truth. This worship naturally blooms in seasons and solemnities, because love loves to remember. The governing body may try to erase those memories, yet Christian joy—like the star that led the Magi—will keep reappearing, guiding all who are not afraid of light to the Infant in the house, to the crucified-and-risen Lord, and to the Spirit who still fills the Church at every Pentecost.
This, finally, is the scandal that the Watchtower cannot answer. It is not a question of whether one eats shrimp, or observes Christmas, or celebrates a family milestone. It is the far deeper scandal of a religion that has fundamentally misunderstood the Gospel—a Gospel that offers radical freedom from the very yoke of fear and endless rule-making the Watchtower exists to impose. The reason ex-Jehovah’s Witnesses so often cite Colossians 2:16 is not merely because it “permits” celebration, but because it proclaims what the Watchtower dare not admit: in Christ, the machinery of human control is dismantled, and the soul stands free before God. Any religious system that seeks to reimpose the bondage of the law, or to set itself up as the final judge in matters of conscience, has declared itself the enemy of the cross. This is why, in the end, the text does not simply refute the Watchtower’s rules; it exposes their entire reason for existence as a monstrous fraud on the freedom for which Christ set us free.
30
2 Peter 1: 1 Corruption in the NWT
by Sea Breeze in
1. watchtower
2. bible
here's how this verse should read: simeon peter, a servant and apostle of jesus christ, to those who have obtained a faith of equal standing with ours by the righteousness of our god and savior jesus christ: - 2 peter 1: 1. here's how watchtower prints this verse:.

simon peter, a slave and an apostle of jesus christ, to those who have acquired a faith as precious as ours through the righteousness of our god and the savior jesus christ: - nwt.

why did watchtower change this verse by adding the word "the" ?.
aqwsed12345

@Earnest
Granville Sharp’s first canon is a descriptive statement about how Koine authors habitually deploy the article, not a theological syllogism devised to rescue later dogma. Its evidential base is the set of Greek sentences in which a single article precedes two singular, personal, common nouns joined by καί. Where that syntactic frame occurs in original (non-translation) prose, the nouns invariably prove to be co-referential. Sharp’s own refinement—excluding proper names and plurals—was not damage control but the normal process of delimiting a rule to the linguistic environment in which it is actually attested. Plural nouns are structurally different because they can embrace multiple individuals inside one grammatical slot; proper names do not ordinarily accept a dependence on a preceding article. Removing these statistically deviant categories left a homogenous data-set with no counter-instance then or since. Hundreds of later searches, including Daniel Wallace’s computer-assisted trawl through the papyri and inscriptions, have confirmed the same distribution. That outcome does not vanish because Sharp reviewed objections: intellectual rigor demands that a putative rule be stress-tested and trimmed to the contours of the evidence it is supposed to explain.
Sharp’s exclusion of proper names and plurals does not indicate a flaw in the rule’s original formulation but rather a deliberate adjustment to align it with observable syntactic patterns in Koine Greek. Proper names and plural nouns exhibit distinct grammatical behaviors in Greek, often functioning independently or requiring additional articles when referring to multiple entities. Sharp’s decision to limit his rule to singular, personal, common nouns reflects a methodological precision aimed at ensuring its predictive accuracy within a defined scope, not an admission of inherent weakness. To suggest that he should have added an exception for cases where substantives have different referents presupposes that such cases exist within the rule’s parameters and that Sharp ignored them. Yet, no clear counterexample from original Greek prose—biblical or otherwise—has been demonstrated where a TSKS construction with singular, personal, common nouns under a single article unambiguously refers to two distinct individuals.
Winstanley’s dismissal of Sharp’s consistency as “utterly improbable” and his questioning of the lack of additional exceptions do not constitute a substantive rebuttal, as he provides no specific instance where the rule fails within its stated boundaries. Instead, his argument hinges on skepticism about the rule’s universality, which does not suffice to overturn the extensive corpus analysis supporting Sharp’s observations. Winstanley’s reasoning was that if the rule were valid one ought to expect “more exceptions,” yet he could not marshal a single uncontested example from the NT corpus. “Hypothetical” is in fact the apt label for his critique, not for Sharp’s induction.
The objection that Sharp should have added another “exception” whenever the two nouns happen to refer to different persons mis-states both his aim and his method. A grammatical rule is not disproved by the wish that it behaved otherwise; it is disproved by a sentence that satisfies the rule’s formal conditions yet, indisputably shows a different outcome. No such sentence has been produced. The texts adduced—2 Peter 1:1 and Titus 2:13—do not falsify the canon; they are the very passages whose interpretation depends upon the canon’s force. Citing them as counter-examples merely begs the question: it assumes the point at issue, namely that the nouns do have distinct referents, and then faults Sharp for failing to anticipate an exception that has never been demonstrated on linguistic grounds.
Your objection—that τοῦ Θεοῦ ἡμῶν in 2 Peter 1:1 “must” by semantic inevitability denote the father and therefore cannot share reference with σωτήρ—confuses customary usage with grammatical structure. It is true that the phrase “our God” regularly designates the covenant God of Israel and is elsewhere applied to the Father. But Koine writers, including Peter, are free to appropriate traditional theistic language in fresh Christological settings. Syntax tells us when they have done so. In the salutation the single article τοῦ governs both θεός and σωτήρ; the two nouns are grammatically welded before the proper name Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ explicates who is meant. Had the author wished to preserve two subjects he had a straightforward device to do so: repeat the article, exactly as he does in the next sentence, τοῦ Θεοῦ καὶ Ἰησοῦ τοῦ Κυρίου ἡμῶν, where duplication unmistakably separates the referents. The contrast of vv. 1–2 shows that he relied on article distribution, not on inherited Hebrew collocations, to signal either unity or distinction.
Appeal to OT precedent is therefore irrelevant to Greek sentence grammar. Even within the Septuagint the string “our God and king” (Ps 99:3 LXX) places θεός and βασιλεύς under one article to speak of Yahweh by dual titles—proof that the idiom of shared definiteness could already override the expectation that θεός identifies a different person from the second noun. Peter writes native Greek, not calque; his readership is expected to parse Greek syntax, not to override it with an a priori rule that οποτε λέγῃ “our God” the Father is necessarily intended.
This claim suggests that because “our God” consistently refers to Yahweh in the OT, it must also refer to “Jehovah”—understood as the Father alone—in 2 Peter 1:1. However, this reasoning reflects an Arian theological bias, which a priori equates Yahweh exclusively with the person of the Father. In contrast, the Nicene understanding, which represents orthodox Christian theology, holds that Jesus is also Yahweh, though not identical to the Father in person. The assertion that “our God” always refers to “Jehovah” as the Father reveals an underlying Arian presupposition. In Arian theology, Yahweh is solely the Father, and Jesus is a separate, created being who is not divine in the same sense. This leads to the conclusion that any reference to “our God” must exclude Jesus. However, this is not a neutral reading of Scripture but a theological lens that shapes the interpretation. When the argument insists that “our God” in 2 Peter 1:1 cannot refer to Jesus because it must mean the Father, it assumes this Arian framework without justifying it.
According to the Nicene Creed, Jesus is fully God, co-equal and co-eternal with the Father, yet distinct in person. In this view, Yahweh is not limited to the Father but is the name of the Godhead—the one divine essence shared by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Therefore, when 2 Peter 1:1 calls Jesus “our God and Savior,” it does not imply that Jesus is the Father, nor does it exclude Him from being Jehovah. Instead, it affirms His deity as part of the triune God. Saying that “our God” refers to Jesus does not mean it ceases to refer to Yahweh; rather, it reflects the broader Christian understanding that Yahweh includes the Son.
The Arian argument begins with the premise that Yahweh (or God) refers only to the Father. When Scripture mentions Jesus alongside “God”, they interpret this as evidence that Jesus is a separate, non-divine entity. This logic underpins their claim: if “our God” is Yahweh, and Jesus is mentioned distinctly, then Jesus cannot be God. However, this reasoning relies on their specific theological jargon and assumptions, not on a universal biblical principle. Mainstream Christianity agrees that the God’s name is Yahweh (or Jehovah) and that Jesus referred to the Father as God, but it does not follow that Yahweh/God equals the Father alone. For Christians, the divine name Yahweh designates the Godhead (theotēs, Colossians 2:9) as a whole, encompassing three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Believers in mainstream Christian churches worship the same God as the JWs, identified as Jehovah or Yahweh, but they understand Him differently. They do not limit Yahweh to the Father but see Him as the triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Thus, calling Jesus “our God” in 2 Peter 1:1 aligns with worshiping Yahweh, because Jesus is part of the Godhead. The Watchtower’s practice of speaking of “Jesus and Jehovah” as strictly separate reflects their theological framework, not a definitive biblical truth.
It’s true that in the OT (e.g., Deuteronomy 4:7; 5:2; 6:4), “our God” refers to Yahweh without explicit Trinitarian distinctions, as the full revelation of the Trinity emerges in the NT. However, the NT expands this understanding by identifying Jesus as divine (e.g., John 1:1; Titus 2:13; Hebrews 1:8). The grammatical structure of 2 Peter 1:1—using a single article for “our God and Savior Jesus Christ”—further supports the view that Jesus is both God and Savior, consistent with His inclusion in the divine identity of Yahweh.
Furthermore, the immediate context of 2 Peter reinforces the Nicene reading. In the very next verse (1:2), Peter employs a different construction—τοῦ Θεοῦ καὶ Ἰησοῦ τοῦ Κυρίου ἡμῶν (“of God and of Jesus our Lord”)—with separate articles, explicitly distinguishing between God and Jesus. This deliberate variation within the same passage suggests that Peter adjusts his syntax to reflect intended distinctions or unities. The absence of a second article in 1:1, contrasted with its presence in 1:2, undermines the claim that “God” and “Savior” must refer to different persons in the former. If Peter had intended to separate the referents in 1:1, Greek convention would favor repeating the article, as he does in 1:2.
Your contention that theological bias alone prevents 2 Peter 1:1 and Titus 2:13 from being recognized as exceptions overlooks the robust linguistic basis for Sharp’s rule. The rule’s validity rests not on a desire to equate “our God” and “Jesus Christ” but on a consistent grammatical pattern observed across a wide range of texts. Scholars have scrutinized this construction in both biblical and extra-biblical Greek, finding no definitive exceptions within the rule’s specified parameters. To establish 2 Peter 1:1 as an exception, one would need to demonstrate that the TSKS construction here unambiguously refers to two distinct individuals, a burden unmet by appealing solely to the customary meaning of “our God.” Such an approach risks imposing an external interpretive framework on the text rather than deriving meaning from its grammatical structure.
Finally, the charge of “theological bias” runs in the opposite direction. The NWT must add an article in English—“of our God and of the Savior”—in order to break the grammatical bond that the inspired text forges. The entire edifice of the dual-referent reading rests on importing into v. 1 the very syntactic marker (a second article) that Peter conspicuously omits. That maneuver is not exegesis but revision.
In sum, Sharp’s exclusions sharpen the rule; they do not expose it. No example has been found in genuine Greek where a single-article TSKS string of singular personal common nouns names two people. Until such an example is produced, 2 Peter 1:1 and Titus 2:13 remain ordinary instances of the idiom, identifying Jesus Christ alone as “our God and Savior.” Sharp’s refinements to his rule enhance its precision by accounting for syntactic realities in Greek, not by conceding flaws, and Winstanley’s critique lacks the evidential force to discredit it. In 2 Peter 1:1, the TSKS construction grammatically supports a single referent—Jesus Christ as both “our God and Savior”—despite the broader convention of “our God” referring to the Father. This interpretation aligns with the text’s syntax and context, rendering an exception unnecessary and highlighting the primacy of linguistic analysis over presupposed referential norms.