aqwsed12345

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  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" ?.

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  aqwsed12345

  @Earnest

  The premise that every occurrence of ὁ θεός in the Petrine–Pauline corpus “must” denote the Father, and that this purported distribution automatically overrides local syntax, cannot be sustained once the mechanics of Greek reference are placed at the center of the discussion. This claim presupposes a rigid semantic rule that ignores the flexibility of Koine Greek syntax and the broader context of early Christian theology. Ὁ θεός is indeed the habitual honorific for the Father, just as ὁ κύριος is the habitual honorific for the Son; that habitual pairing—what later theologians call appropriatio—does not, however, license the erasure of the explicit grammatical signals an author employs when he chooses to depart from habit. Languages work precisely because speakers can innovate against a background of convention, and the innovation is recognized by those who share the code not by tallying previous frequencies but by attending to the formal cues that mark the new usage. In Koine prose the decisive cue is article distribution. A single article placed before two singular, personal, common nouns linked by καί fuses the two into one determiner phrase; repetition of the article disjoins them. Peter demonstrably exploits that contrast within two consecutive lines of his salutation: τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν καὶ σωτῆρος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1:1) versus τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ Ἰησοῦ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν (1:2). To insist that verse 1 must mirror verse 2 in meaning because verse 2 mirrors the OT distribution of titles is to elevate pragmatic expectation above the morpho-syntactic signal that Greek readers used to decode reference.

  While it is true that ὁ θεός frequently designates the Father in NT usage, this is not an absolute rule but a convention reflecting relational distinctions within the Trinity, as understood through the lens of Trinitarian appropriation. According to established NT terminology, ὁ θεός is generally the standard designation for the Father, ὁ κύριος for the Son, and τὸ πνεῦμα for the Holy Spirit. However, this ascription does not imply exclusivity or ontological limitation; rather, it highlights roles within the Godhead while affirming that all three persons—Father, Son, and Spirit—share the divine essence (θεότης). The word “God” (θεός) operates in three senses: as a designation for the Father (appropriatio), as a reference to the entire Trinity (the divine essence), and as a qualitative descriptor of divinity/deity (quiddity). These senses coexist without contradiction, meaning that the predominant use of ὁ θεός for the Father does not preclude its application to the Son in specific contexts.

  Sharp’s rule is not a prescriptive theological imposition but a descriptive analysis of Koine Greek syntax, specifically the TSKS construction (article-substantive-καί-substantive). When a single article governs two singular, personal, common nouns joined by καί, such as “our God and Savior” (τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν καὶ σωτῆρος) in 2 Peter 1:1, the construction consistently indicates a single referent in original Greek prose. This is not a modern invention but a reflection of linguistic patterns inherent in the language of the NT. Your example of Philippians 3:19, where “their god” (ὁ θεὸς αὐτῶν) clearly refers to a non-divine entity, is irrelevant to Sharp’s rule, as it involves neither a TSKS construction nor a pairing of singular, personal, common nouns under a single article. By contrast, in 2 Peter 1:1, the single article τοῦ unifies “God” (θεοῦ) and “Savior” (σωτῆρος), followed by the appositive “Jesus Christ” (Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ), grammatically identifying one individual. Your assertion thus rests on a semantic assumption—that ὁ θεός “must always” mean the Father—rather than a syntactic analysis, which is the proper domain of Sharp’s rule. Moreover, John 20:28 directly contradicts this claim: Thomas addresses Jesus as “my Lord and my God” (ὁ κύριός μου καὶ ὁ θεός μου), using ὁ θεός explicitly for the Son. The grammar, with possessive pronouns and the verb “he said to Him” (εἶπεν αὐτῷ), leaves no doubt that this is directed at Jesus, affirming His deity, and demonstrating that ὁ θεός is not exclusively the Father’s title.

  Nor does the appeal to the KJV rescue the dual-referent reading. The 1611 translators worked two centuries before the Greek article had been subjected to comprehensive analysis; they freely acknowledged in the preface that their renderings were constrained by idiom and by the state of scholarship then available. Their decision to insert a second determiner (“and our Savior”) was an interpretive gloss, not an exegetical trump card; the fact that Sharp’s observation lay in the future only explains why they did not profit from it, not why later generations must ignore it. If appeal to earliest reception is intended to carry weight, the burden rests on the objector to cite a single pre-Nicene author who quotes 2 Peter 1:1 or Titus 2:13 with the understanding that two persons are in view.

  The KJV, completed in 1611, predates Sharp’s 1798 articulation of the rule, so its translators lacked his specific grammatical insight. However, this does not mean the original Greek text or its first-century readers were unbound by the syntactic conventions Sharp later identified. Koine Greek speakers intuitively grasped their language’s rules, much as modern English speakers understand grammar without formal codification. The TSKS construction’s implication of a single referent was a natural feature of the language, not a discovery dependent on Sharp’s eighteenth-century work. The KJV’s rendering reflects a translational choice, possibly influenced by theological caution or stylistic preference, not a rejection of the Greek syntax. Notably, the very next verse, 2 Peter 1:2, uses separate articles—“of God and of Jesus our Lord” (τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ Ἰησοῦ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν)—to distinguish two referents, a contrast that reinforces the intentional unity in 1:1. Your implication that the KJV’s phrasing disproves Sharp’s rule ignores this contextual evidence and the extensive corpus analysis—spanning biblical and extra-biblical Greek texts, including papyri and inscriptions—that supports the rule’s consistency. No counterexample within Sharp’s parameters (singular, personal, common nouns under a single article) has been found to refute it, undermining the claim that it is inapplicable to the original text.

  The assertion that “we have no idea” how first-century Christians would have read the construction is simply incorrect. We possess thousands of non-Christian papyri, ostraca and inscriptions whose authors were native users of the same language. In that material, every example of a single-article TSKS construction with singular, personal, common nouns—legal formulas, dedicatory stelae, private letters—refers to one individual. The epistolary habit of Hellenistic administrators mirrors the practice found in 2 Peter and Titus: when a magistrate is styled ὁ ἡγεμών καὶ κριτής the two titles designate the same office-holder; when two persons are meant the article is repeated. Statistical universality is not claimed for languages in the abstract, but the absence of a counter-instance in the surviving corpus is the strongest kind of empirical argument historical linguistics can supply.

  The suggestion that recognizing Christ as the sole referent in these verses is an act of “arrogance” rests on a misunderstanding of what grammatical description accomplishes. Sharp’s canon does not decree how the Bible must be translated; it reports how Koine authors actually wrote. If a modern interpreter declines to reproduce the cohesion signaled by the single article, the onus is on him to show—within Koine, not within later doctrinal preference—why Peter and Paul would have violated a convention they uniformly observe elsewhere. No such demonstration has been offered. Invoking a theological axiom that “God = Father” collapses the moment John places Thomas’s confession ὁ θεός μου in the mouth of a disciple addressing the risen Jesus, or when Paul quotes Joel’s ἐπικαλεῖσθαι τὸ ὄνομα κυρίου and applies the text to Christ. The NT’s own usage therefore warns us that distributional patterns are not hermetically sealed.

  While direct access to ancient readers’ minds is impossible, we can reconstruct their likely understanding through linguistic analysis of the texts they received. Your skepticism dismisses the tools of historical linguistics and exegesis, which reveal consistent patterns like the TSKS construction. Sharp’s rule is not an anachronistic overlay but a distillation of how Koine Greek functions, as evidenced by its uniform application across diverse sources. The claim that not everyone understood these texts identically is trivially true but irrelevant; interpretation varies across time and communities, yet this does not negate the objective grammatical structure of the original language. Insisting on translations that reflect this structure, as Sharp’s rule does, is not arrogance but fidelity to the text’s syntax over subjective theological preferences. Your position, by contrast, privileges a preconceived notion—that “the God” must “always” be the Father—over the evidence of the Greek, effectively imposing an Arian framework that assumes Jesus cannot be ὁ θεός. This is circular reasoning: it assumes the conclusion (Jesus is not divine in the same sense as the Father) to argue against a grammatical rule that challenges that conclusion.

  Trinitarian appropriation provides further clarity here. The convention of using ὁ θεός for the Father reflects His role as the source (ἀρχή) within the Godhead, while ὁ κύριος emphasizes the Son’s redemptive mission. Yet, these are relational distinctions, not ontological divisions. The Son’s deity is clearly affirmed in passages like John 1:1, where “the Word was God” (θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος) uses the anarthrous θεός to denote His divine essence (quiddity), distinct from but consubstantial with the Father (πρὸς τὸν θεόν). In John 20:28, ὁ θεός explicitly applies to Jesus, showing that the NT occasionally extends this title to the Son to affirm His full deity. Thus, in 2 Peter 1:1, the phrase “our God and Savior Jesus Christ” (τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν καὶ σωτῆρος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) does not contradict the norm of ὁ θεός referring to the Father; it leverages the TSKS construction to make a deliberate Christological statement, consistent with the flexibility of early Christian language. Your refusal to allow this possibility—dismissing it because of a supposed universal rule—overlooks both the syntactic evidence and the theological context, effectively rewriting the text to fit a dual-referent interpretation unsupported by the grammar.

  Sharp’s observation stands unrefuted: in original Greek prose a single article modifying two singular, personal, common nouns linked by καί makes the nouns co-referential. Until an undisputed counter-example is produced, 2 Peter 1:1 and Titus 2:13 remain standard instances of the construction, and the burden of proof lies with any translator who parts the titles that the inspired authors deliberately bound together.

  In conclusion, your objections fail to undermine the application of Sharp’s rule to 2 Peter 1:1. The claim that the term “the God” allegedly “always” refers to the Father is an overgeneralization that ignores exceptions like John 20:28 and the syntactic unity of the TSKS construction. The appeal to the KJV’s translation sidesteps the original Greek’s implications, which first-century readers would have understood through their native linguistic competence. Finally, the charge of arrogance in adhering to Sharp’s rule mischaracterizes a method grounded in rigorous linguistic analysis, not theological bias. The rule stands as a reliable guide to the text’s meaning, affirming that Jesus Christ is identified as “our God and Savior,” a reading that aligns with both the grammar and the NT’s broader witness to His deity.
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  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

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  aqwsed12345

  @Wonderment

  Your response mischaracterizes both my original argument and the state of scholarly discussion concerning the semantics of anarthrous predicate nominatives in Koine Greek. While it is true that Daniel Wallace and others have recognized that the distinction between qualitative and indefinite force can, at times, be subtle or even ambiguous in certain contexts, it is a category mistake to extrapolate from the mere possibility of ambiguity to the assertion that the two functions are equally likely, or that the context of John 1:1c (or the patristic texts under discussion) is genuinely ambiguous between these readings.

  Wallace's own extensive research into anarthrous predicate nominatives explicitly concludes that in the majority of pre-verbal predicate nominative constructions, particularly those referring to persons or entities already thematically salient in the discourse, the qualitative force is primary. This is not a mere theological assumption but a result of detailed grammatical and syntactic analysis. For example, Wallace writes: "An anarthrous predicate nominative preceding the verb is primarily qualitative in meaning, indicating the nature or essence of the subject" (Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics, p. 269). While Wallace acknowledges occasional difficulty in distinguishing the two, he does not claim that the indefinite is always possible, nor that it is linguistically neutral or equally valid in every context.

  Turning to your demand for a statistical breakdown, numerous studies have been undertaken (including those by Philip Harner, Colwell, and Dixon) cataloging pre-verbal anarthrous predicate nominatives in both the NT and the Septuagint. These studies overwhelmingly show that the qualitative interpretation predominates, especially in theological and soteriological contexts. For instance, in Harner's well-known analysis, the majority of such predicates (including θεός in John 1:1c) are best understood as qualitative, highlighting the nature or essence of the subject, not its membership in a broader class or its indefiniteness.

  This is not a "theological evasion" but the consensus of Greek linguistics as applied to the Johannine Prologue. The context of John 1:1 explicitly sets up a distinction in personhood between the Logos and the Father ("the Word was with [the] God"), and then asserts the nature of the Logos ("the Word was God" in essence). The lack of the article in θεός is grammatically required by the predicate position and the rules of Greek syntax (Colwell's Rule), and in this context, an indefinite reading ("a god") is both contextually and theologically improbable. To read it as indefinite in this context is to ignore not only the grammar but the entire theological and literary context of the Prologue, which asserts the Logos' unique role as Creator and source of life and light (John 1:3-4), titles and attributes elsewhere reserved for YHWH alone in Jewish monotheism.

  Moreover, your insistence that Trinitarian scholars "tend to evade" the indefinite sense ignores the broader spectrum of scholarly opinion, which is not confined to confessional bias. Even non-Trinitarian grammarians and those outside theological circles acknowledge that the grammar and context support the qualitative sense in John 1:1c. The very fact that the definite reading is rejected by most serious scholars (precisely because the article is missing) further demonstrates the careful distinctions made by competent grammarians.

  In summary, your appeal to Wallace is misplaced: his work, and that of other scholars in the field, supports the view that the anarthrous θεός in John 1:1c is best understood qualitatively, not indefinitely. The text is not asserting that the Logos is "a god" among many, but that the Logos shares the very nature or essence of God, while remaining distinct in person from the Father. The burden of proof rests on those who wish to claim that John is teaching either polytheism or a subordinate ontological status for the Logos. The linguistic, literary, and theological evidence all support the qualitative interpretation as both contextually and grammatically correct.

  ---

  @Earnest

  Your response concedes a critical point but then subtly attempts to relativize the implications of the anarthrous θεός in both the NT and patristic literature by appealing to a generic distinction between “God” and “divine.” However, this move fundamentally misunderstands both the function of θεός in these theological contexts and the settled intentions of the Church Fathers. The essence of the issue is not merely semantic, as if the difference between “God,” “a god,” and “divine” were a matter of translation preference; rather, it is ontological and theological—rooted in the very heart of Christian confession.

  First, while it is certainly true that “context determines meaning,” it does not follow that θεός, when used anarthrously, is best rendered “divine” in an abstract, adjectival sense, or that it is ever left so vague as to support either subordinationism or a merely qualitative reading void of true divinity. When the Church Fathers—and especially Clement—speak of man “becoming θεός,” they are employing the language of theosis, which, as I noted, is participatory and relational, never essential or rivalrous. The context, therefore, does not point to an “abstract divinity,” nor to a second deity, but to a real, though always derivative, participation in the divine life. This is precisely why the Church Fathers can speak so freely of deification without lapsing into polytheism or undermining the Creator-creature distinction: the divine nature remains absolutely simple, unique, and unshared as to its essence (ousia), even as it is communicated by grace and adoption to rational creatures.

  This dynamic is central to both Nicene and pre-Nicene theology, and it stands in stark contrast to Arian readings that imagine a spectrum or hierarchy of divinity, wherein some are “gods” by lesser, contingent, or subordinate essence. The very reason the Church Fathers distinguish between ὁ θεός and anarthrous θεός is not to imply separate grades of deity, but rather to guard against both polytheism and modalism. In the case of John 1:1c, as demonstrated by Colwell, Harner, and a long line of grammatical and patristic authorities, the predicate θεός—though anarthrous—bears qualitative force, asserting that the Logos possesses the very nature of God, not that he is a lesser or different kind of divine being. To suggest that the Word is merely “divine” in the sense of possessing godlike qualities, rather than being true God from true God, is to reintroduce precisely the ontological subordination that the Church condemned at Nicaea.

  Furthermore, your suggestion that the “distinction between θεός and ὁ θεός” is simply a matter of clarification in usage overlooks the specific theological grammar of both Scripture and the Fathers. When θεός is applied to the Father with the article, it typically marks him as the arche, the personal source within the Trinity; when applied to the Son or Spirit without the article, it affirms their full participation in the divine essence without confusion of persons. Nowhere do the Fathers, Clement included, suggest that Christ is divine merely by courtesy or predication, nor that Christians are “divine” in any naturalistic or pantheistic sense. The entire point is that theosis is by grace, the Son’s divinity is by nature, and the difference is always maintained.

  In summary, your appeal to a generic “divinity” as the solution to the problem of θεός and ὁ θεός in patristic and biblical texts elides the crucial distinctions affirmed by the Christian tradition. The Church Fathers’ precision in their use of θεός serves not to support the possibility of subordinate or lesser deities, but rather to articulate the mystery of the Trinity and the uniqueness of Christian monotheism: one God in three Persons, and one economy of salvation by which man is made “god by participation, not by nature.” Any exegesis or translation that attempts to dilute this distinction—by rendering the Logos as “a god” or by reducing Christian theosis to an abstract “divinity”—inevitably fails to account for both the grammar and the substance of Christian confession. The distinction between θεός and ὁ θεός is not a Trojan horse for Arianism, but a necessary instrument for safeguarding the paradox of unity and distinction at the heart of Christian faith.
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  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

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  aqwsed12345

  @slimboyfat

  The claim that “the scholarly consensus” reads Justin Martyr as advancing a henotheistic and Arian theology of two ontologically unequal gods is, at best, an oversimplification of a far more variegated field of interpretation and, at worst, a misrepresentation of what mainstream patristic scholarship actually says about Justin’s Christology. It is certainly true that many historians detect in Justin a real order—or taxis—within the Godhead, expressed in the language of begetting, sending, and functional differentiation, but order is not equivalent to ontological inequality. When the primary texts, the semantic range of Justin’s Greek, and the wider second-century intellectual milieu are considered together, the evidence supports a reading in which Justin is grappling toward a doctrine of personal distinction and shared divinity that would later be formalized at Nicaea, not erecting a hierarchy of two discrete deities.

  A preliminary point concerns the supposed scholarly “consensus.” No responsible survey of the literature can ignore the fact that patristic specialists remain divided. The late J. N. D. Kelly, in a work still standard for the undergraduate classroom, speaks of Justin’s “high Logos-Christology” and remarks that the Apologist “had no intention whatever of whittling down the status of the Word; He was, for Justin, God in the full sense.” Denis Minns writes that Justin’s description of the Logos as “another God” must be read in the context of his desire to preserve both distinction and unity, concluding that “Justin’s insistence that Christians adore the Son with latreia commits him to the Son’s full deity.” Thomas Nielsen and Sara Parvis alike stress the incompatibility of Justin’s statements about worship with any real ontological subordination. Even Larry Hurtado, whose emphasis on “binitarian” cultic devotion sometimes leads to stronger language of distinction, grants that Justin places Christ “on the divine side of reality.” By contrast, those who place Justin on the path to Arianism rest their case largely on isolated phrases—“another God,” “subject to the Maker”—without integrating those phrases into Justin’s larger exegetical and polemical project. The very plurality of assessments shows that there is no monolithic consensus; one finds instead a spectrum ranging from moderate “subordinationism” (in the sense of taxis) to frank anticipation of Nicene homoousios.

  Scholar/Source	View on Justin’s Theology	Key Points
  Michael F. Bird (Jesus among the Gods)	Proto-Trinitarian	Justin’s high Christology and triadic Godhead (Father, Son, Spirit) reflect early Trinitarian concepts, though not in Nicene terms. Rejects accusations of retrojecting Nicene theology.
  D.T. Sheffler (Justin Martyr on the Trinity)	Proto-Trinitarian	Justin’s theology contains the basic outlines of Trinitarian doctrine, with the Son as fully divine, distinct in person, and sharing the Father’s essence.
  Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Trinity > History of Trinitarian Doctrines)	Subordinationist	Justin’s triad is hierarchical, with the Father as the primary God and the Son and Spirit as subordinate. Not properly Trinitarian, but influenced by Middle Platonism.
  Diels, Hillar, Maspero (cited in video)	Subordinationist	Justin’s Logos is a diminished divinity, a second god necessitated by divine transcendence, aligning with Middle Platonic philosophy.
  J.N.D. Kelly (Early Christian Doctrines)	Proto-Trinitarian	Justin’s theology, while using subordinationist language, affirms the Son’s eternal pre-existence and shared essence, laying groundwork for Nicene orthodoxy.

  Much of the disagreement turns on Greek grammar and the semantics of θεός. Dan McClellan’s appeal to an allegedly rigid article rule (“ὁ θεός = the God, θεός = a god”) has been repeatedly discredited in classical scholarship since the work of Colwell and Harner. An anarthrous predicate nominative preceding the verb, as in John 1:1c, is most naturally read as qualitative, not indefinite; this is the position embodied in every major critical commentary of the past fifty years. Justin’s usage conforms to the same syntactical conventions. He can refer to the Logos as θεός without the article precisely because he wishes to highlight the qualitative sense—the Logos is God by nature—while maintaining personal reference to the Father as ὁ θεός. Nowhere does Justin say that the Logos is “a lesser god,” nor does he ascribe to Him any attributes of contingency or createdness. On the contrary, he insists that the Logos was “begotten before all creatures” and “was in the beginning with the Father,” echoing the prologue of John in language that would later be sharpened into ἐκ τῆς οὐσίας τοῦ Πατρός.

  Justin’s most subordination-sounding claim is that the Logos is “ἕτερος θεὸς καὶ κύριος ὑπὸ τὸν ποιητὴν τῶν ὅλων” (Dial. 56). Two contextual remarks are essential. First, the dialogue partner is Trypho, a Jew alert to any whiff of ditheism. Justin’s rhetorical strategy is to show, from the Hebrew Scriptures, that a personal plurality has always been latent in Israel’s God. The phrase ἕτερος θεός corresponds to the “second power” traditions documented in contemporaneous Jewish sources; it is a polemical bridge, not a metaphysical diminution. Second, Justin immediately adds that this other divine person is distinct “in number, not in mind” (οὐ γνώμῃ), thereby invoking the ancient philosophical topos of harmony in one nous—precisely the point later secured in the doctrine of one will (μία γνώμη/θέλησις) in the Trinity. “Subject to” (ὑποτασσόμενος or ὑπὸ) marks personal origin, filial obedience and mission, not a difference of essence; Justin’s fire-from-fire analogy explicitly disallows any partition or diminution of the Father’s substance. Such analogies recur in Athanasius and the Cappadocians because they embody the same logic the Nicenes would sharpen: generation without division.

  It is also critical to notice Justin’s liturgical claims. In Apol. 13 and 63 he states that Christians offer “λόγῳ καὶ ἀληθείᾳ προσκυνοῦντες” the Father, the Son, and the prophetic Spirit. The very Greek verb he chooses, προσκυνέω, denotes the full cultic worship which—especially in a post-Maccabean Jewish context—cannot be given to any being less than fully God. That Justin feels no hesitation in ascribing such worship to the Logos indicates that, whatever schematic ordering he accepts, he does not consider the Logos a creature. This single datum is lethal to any reading that would align Justin with Arius, who made the worship of Christ a stumbling-block.

  Finally, Justin’s theology cannot be severed from its biblical moorings. His exegesis of Genesis 18–19, Exodus 3, Psalm 45 and 110, and Proverbs 8 is aimed at demonstrating that the One whom Scripture calls both God and “Angel” is none other than the pre-existent Logos. The hermeneutical move is not philosophical but revelatory: it arises from the conviction that the Old Testament itself attests a plurality of persons who yet bear the divine Name. That hermeneutic, not Middle Platonism, furnishes Justin’s governing categories. While he certainly borrows the language of λόγος and ἰδέα from contemporary philosophy, he radically reshapes those terms to fit the pattern of biblical revelation. Modern scholarship (e.g., the recent monographs by Daniel Boyarin, Matthew Bates, and Benjamin Sommer) has shown that Justin’s move coheres with Second Temple currents, reinforcing the view that his theology is an outgrowth of the apostolic proclamation, not an import from Greek metaphysics.

  In sum, the portrait of Justin as a sub-Nicene heretic rests on selective quotation, outdated grammatical arguments and an under-appreciation of his scriptural exegesis and liturgical evidence. The trajectory from Justin to Nicaea is one of refinement, not reversal: the elements are already present—pre-existence, generation without division, triadic worship, personal distinction within one divine mind—and the fourth-century debates will supply the technical lexicon to secure those elements against rival constructions. To call this continuity a “retrojection” is to confuse terminological development with doctrinal invention. Justin’s Logos is not a “second god” in the Arian sense, but God from God, light from light, eternally begotten, worthy of the same worship Christians give the Father, and thereby an unmistakable precursor of Nicene faith.
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  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  aqwsed12345

  @slimboyfat

  Your response seeks to drive a wedge between Justin Martyr’s second-century Logos theology and Nicene Trinitarianism by positing that Justin distinguishes between “the God” (ho theos, the Father) and “a god” (theos, the Logos/Son) in a way that constitutes real ontological subordination—a second, lesser deity. This reading is asserted to be based on explicit linguistic and philosophical distinctions in Justin’s text, allegedly corroborated by the scholarly consensus and the supposed absence of Nicene metaphysics in Justin’s era. Such a reconstruction, however, misreads both the language and the intent of Justin’s thought, as well as the actual nature of theological development in early Christianity.

  First, the insistence that the absence of the article before theos (θεός) in Greek signals ontological inferiority or a “lesser god” status—whether in the New Testament or in Justin’s writings—rests on a fundamental grammatical fallacy. As repeatedly demonstrated in contemporary Greek grammar and patristic scholarship, the presence or absence of the article in Koine Greek has multiple possible functions: it can mark definiteness, but it can also serve to indicate the qualitative aspect of the noun, as in John 1:1c (“καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος”), where the absence of the article before theos is best read as signifying that the Logos possesses the very nature of God, not that the Logos is merely “a god.” To treat every anarthrous occurrence of theos as a pointer to ontological subordination is simply ungrammatical, and is flatly contradicted by the usage of Greek authors themselves, both biblical and patristic. In Greek, the article’s presence or absence can shift meaning, but it’s not a rigid rule that "theos" without the article means "a god" in a subordinate sense. Context determines the intent. Justin’s use of "another God" reflects a distinction in personhood, not a diminishment of divinity. His consistent emphasis on the Logos being "begotten" and sharing the Father’s will and essence undermines the idea of a "second subordinate god" as a separate, lesser being.

  The claim that Justin Martyr (and others) explicitly distinguishes "the God" from "a god" to mean a "second subordinate god" oversimplifies their theology. Justin’s writings show a nuanced view: the Logos is divine, begotten of the Father, and distinct yet not lesser in essence. While terms like "another God" appear, they reflect a proto-Trinitarian understanding rather than a strict subordinationism. The video you mentioned, featuring Dan McClellan, may highlight these distinctions, but a full reading of Justin suggests a more complex picture than a simple hierarchy of gods.

  The assertion that Justin deliberately distinguishes “the God” and “a god” to signal two tiers of divinity imports a post-Nicene debate into a context where the key issue was personal distinction, not denial of shared divine nature. Justin’s “another God and Lord subject to the Maker of all things” (Dialogue with Trypho 56) must be read in context: Justin is at pains to demonstrate, to a Jewish interlocutor, the reality of personal distinction within the Old Testament theophanies. He identifies the Angel of the Lord—who is called God and acts with divine prerogatives—as the Logos, thus showing that the One God of Israel is not a monadic individual, but possesses a personal plurality. The expression “another God” is thus intended not to multiply deities, but to establish that the Godhead is not a solitary monad—a point entirely consonant with Trinitarian doctrine. The phrase “subject to the Maker of all things” does not denote a created or inferior nature but a filial relationship and a personal distinction of origin—precisely what orthodox Trinitarianism has always confessed.

  Justin’s use of “another God” (theos kai kurios eteros) does not imply a separate or lesser deity but a distinction in personhood within the Godhead. In Dialogue with Trypho 56, Justin states, “I shall attempt to persuade you… that there is, and that there is said to be, another God and Lord subject to the Maker of all things; who is also called an Angel, because He announces to men whatsoever the Maker of all things—above Whom there is no other God—wishes to announce to them.” The term “subject to” reflects a relational dynamic, not an ontological inferiority. Justin clarifies that this “other God” is numerically distinct but not in will: “He who is said to have appeared to Abraham, Jacob, and Moses, and is called God, is distinct from God the Creator; distinct, that is, in number, but not in mind” (Dialogue 56:11). This unity of will aligns with Trinitarian theology, where the three persons share one divine will and essence.

  In First Apology 63, Justin describes the Logos as "another God and Lord under the Creator of all things," yet insists on the Logos’ divine status. This reflects relational distinction, not ontological subordination. Justin actually never used the phrase “deuteros theos” in reference to Jesus, he used “theos kai kurios eteros”, which parallels Johannine language (John 1:1), where the Logos is distinct (πρὸς τὸν θεόν) yet fully God (θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος). Justin does not mean “theos kai kurios eteros” in the sense of proposing two separate gods. Instead, within the broader context of Dialogue with Trypho, Justin seeks to demonstrate to a Jewish audience that Old Testament theophanies — such as the appearance of God to Abraham involving "three men," with one identified as "the Lord" and the other two as angels (Genesis 18) — can be understood as manifestations of God and possibly hint at a plurality within the divine nature (a proto-Trinitarian concept). Justin's intent is not to propose two independent, separate gods (in henotheistic sense) but to demonstrate, using the Old Testament, that certain figures identified as God and Lord (e.g., the Angel of the Lord) align with his understanding of the pre-incarnate Christ, who is distinct in person yet unified in essence with the Father. So Justin does not imply a separate deity but acknowledges the personal distinctions within the Godhead. His Apology (Chapter 63) affirms, "We worship and adore Him, the Son... and the prophetic Spirit, in reason and truth."

  Furthermore, Justin’s analogy of fire kindling fire (Dialogue 61) illustrates that the Son’s generation does not diminish the Father’s essence: “When we give out some word, we beget the word; yet not by abscission, so as to lessen the word in us… just as we see also happening in the case of a fire, which is not lessened when it has kindled [another], but remains the same.” This analogy, later adopted by Nicene theologians, suggests that the Son shares the same divine substance as the Father, not a separate or diminished divinity. The video’s claim that this is merely a Middle Platonic concept of non-diminished substance ignores Justin’s explicit rejection of the Son as a created being. He states that the Logos was “begotten before all creatures” and was “with the Father before all the creatures” (Dialogue 62), directly contradicting Arianism’s view of the Son as created ex nihilo.

  The Arian polemic repeatedly insists that Justin’s language of numerical distinction but unity of will is mere “functional” unity, not ontological. But this misreads both the philosophical language of the time and Justin’s intent. In second-century thought, especially in Christian writers, the unity of will was not conceived as a mere moral harmony, but as a manifestation of a deeper ontological communion. When Justin writes that the Logos is “distinct in number but not in mind” (Dialogue 56:11), he is not reducing the unity of Father and Son to mere cooperation or agreement, but expressing, within the constraints of available terminology, the very thing later formalized as unity of essence and will. This is reinforced by Justin’s repeated analogies: fire from fire, word from mind, light from light. These analogies are not, as the Arian critique suggests, mere borrowings from Middle Platonism with no ontological content; rather, they serve as accessible ways to convey real participation in the same essence without division or diminution. The Father does not lose anything in the begetting of the Son; the Son is fully divine, possessing all that belongs to deity, save personal distinction. This is why Justin will say that the Logos is “God begotten of the Father” and that Christians “worship and adore Him, the Son… and the prophetic Spirit” (First Apology 63). The very fact that Justin ascribes latreia (the worship due to God alone) to the Son is a direct refutation of Arian or henotheistic readings: in the Jewish and early Christian context, worship is strictly reserved for the one true God.

  Justin’s identification of the Son with Old Testament theophanies, such as the Angel of the Lord in Genesis 18 and Exodus 3, further supports his belief in the Son’s full divinity. He argues that the one who appeared to Abraham and Moses is called “God” and “Lord” in Scripture, yet is distinct from the Father who remains in the “supercelestial places” (Dialogue 56, 60). This aligns with the “Two Powers in Heaven” concept from Second Temple Judaism, which Justin strategically and rhetorically adapts to show that the Son is divine and pre-existent, not a secondary, separate god. His statement in First Apology 63, “We worship and adore Him, the Son… and the prophetic Spirit, in reason and truth,” indicates that the Son is worthy of worship, a prerogative reserved for God alone in monotheistic Christianity, thus affirming His full divinity.

  Justin’s use of “Angel” refers to the Son’s role as a messenger (angelos simply means “messenger” in Greek), not a created spirit being. In Dialogue 56, he explains that the Son is called an Angel “because He announces to men whatsoever the Maker of all things… wishes to announce to them.” This functional title does not diminish the Son’s divinity, as Justin also calls Him “God” and “Lord” in the same contexts. For example, in Dialogue 61, the Son is “the Word of Wisdom, who is Himself this God begotten of the Father of all things, and Word, and Wisdom, and Power, and the Glory of the Begetter.” The video’s interpretation misrepresents Justin’s intent, as he explicitly distinguishes the Son from created angels, noting that the Son was “begotten before all creatures” and is “numerically distinct” but not ontologically separate (Dialogue 128). Hence, even the text of Dialogue 56 makes clear, Justin uses “angel” only in the etymological sense of “messenger”—one who is sent. The Logos is called “angel” because He is the divine Messenger, not because He is a created spirit. Indeed, Justin is at pains to distinguish the Son from the angels, ascribing to the Son unique divine prerogatives, titles, and functions, and identifying Him with the Yahweh who appears in the Old Testament. This is a claim so staggering, so theologically maximal, that no Jew or Arian could accept it, and it is why Justin’s argument is so unpalatable to both.

  It is a gross distortion, then, to suggest that Justin “sidesteps” charges of polytheism by making the Logos a “diminished divinity” and claiming that “it doesn’t count” as polytheism because the second god is subordinate. The entire thrust of Justin’s argument is against polytheism; his intent is not to introduce a secondary, lesser god, but to explain the possibility of a distinct hypostasis who is yet fully divine, in continuity with the Old Testament’s complex portrayal of divine agency. The subordinationist tone found in Justin and other early Fathers is best explained as an artifact of their struggle to articulate personal distinction and order of origin within the Godhead, not as a denial of essential unity or the Son’s true divinity. This is why, in Dialogue 61, Justin insists that the Logos “was begotten from the Father, by His power and will, but not by abscission as if the essence of the Father were divided.” This is an affirmation of divine unity at the level of ousia (essence), anticipating later Nicene formulations even if not yet employing their technical vocabulary.

  Justin’s phrase “distinct in number but not in mind” indeed emphasizes unity of will, but this does not preclude ontological unity. In second-century theology, the concept of “mind” (nous) often encompassed both will and essence, as the divine nature was understood holistically. Justin’s statement that the Son “never did or said anything other than what the Creator… desired” (Dialogue 56:11) reflects perfect harmony in will, which is consistent with Trinitarian theology’s view of one divine will shared by three persons. His fire analogy further clarifies that the Son’s generation does not divide the Father’s essence, suggesting a shared divine nature: “This power was begotten from the Father, by His power and will, but not by abscission, as if the essence of the Father were divided” (Dialogue 56).

  The video’s claim that Justin’s concept of substance is purely Middle Platonic and unrelated to Nicene homoousios oversimplifies the issue. Scholars like Michael F. Bird note that while Justin’s terminology reflects second-century philosophical categories, his intent is to affirm the Son’s divinity and unity with the Father (Jesus among the Gods, p. 151). Justin’s rejection of modalism in First Apology 63, where he states that “they who affirm that the Son is the Father… are proved neither to have become acquainted with the Father, nor to know that the Father of the universe has a Son,” underscores his belief in real distinctions within the Godhead, not merely functional roles. This aligns with proto-Trinitarianism, where the Son is distinct in person but one in essence with the Father.

  The Arian polemic also relies heavily on a parade of scholars (Diels, Hillar, Maspero, etc.) who favor a subordinationist or “proto-Arian” reading of Justin, but it conveniently ignores the significant body of scholarship that recognizes the developmental character of patristic theology and the continuity between the second-century Fathers and Nicene orthodoxy. J.N.D. Kelly, for example, concedes that “the apologists as a body…were high trinitarians, at least in germ” (Early Christian Doctrines, p. 95). Michael F. Bird, whose work the video critiques, correctly notes that Justin “deploys the language of generation, of sharing in the Father’s being, of divinity that is undiminished, and of worship that is properly rendered only to God.” To dismiss these claims as mere “retrojection” is to assume what must be proved: that there is no real continuity between Justin and the Nicene tradition, a thesis patently contradicted by the actual language and logic of the sources.

  The repeated claim that Justin’s theology is fundamentally Platonic and foreign to the later Trinity again reveals a false dichotomy. Justin certainly draws on the conceptual resources of his age, but he does so precisely to express the unique Christian experience of God’s revelation in Christ. His insistence on the Logos as the pre-existent, active, creative Word, eternally with the Father, and properly called God, reflects the trajectory of Christian dogma from the apostolic period through the anti-Nicene Fathers to Nicaea. It is not “retrojection” to recognize this continuity; it is, rather, the recognition that dogmatic articulation grows organically from seed to full flower.

  While Justin employs Middle Platonic terminology to communicate Christian beliefs to a Greco-Roman audience, his theology transcends mere philosophical borrowing. He integrates biblical revelation with philosophical concepts to affirm the Son’s divinity. In Dialogue with Trypho 61, Justin describes the Logos as “God begot before all creatures a Beginning, [who was] a certain rational power [proceeding] from Himself, who is called by the Holy Spirit, now the Glory of the Lord, now the Son, again Wisdom, again an Angel, then God, and then Lord and Logos.” This multiplicity of titles reflects the Son’s divine roles, not a lesser status. Justin’s assertion that the Logos “was with the Father before all the creatures” and is “begotten by an act of the Father’s will” (Dialogue 61) indicates eternal pre-existence, not a temporal creation as Arianism posits.

  The video’s claim that Justin’s Logos is a “diminished divinity” misinterprets his use of Middle Platonic analogies. Justin’s fire analogy (Dialogue 61) and light analogy (Dialogue 128) emphasize that the Son’s generation does not divide or diminish the Father’s essence, aligning with the later Nicene concept of homoousios. The video cites scholars like Diels and Hillar to argue that Justin’s theology requires a second god to preserve divine transcendence, but this overlooks Justin’s monotheistic commitment. In On the Sole Government of God, Justin affirms strict monotheism, and in First Apology 16 and 17, he states that Christians worship God alone, yet includes the Son and Spirit in this worship (First Apology 63). This triadic worship suggests a proto-Trinitarian framework, where the Father, Son, and Spirit are distinct persons within one divine essence.

  The video’s reliance on Middle Platonic parallels, such as Numenius or Philo, ignores Justin’s grounding in biblical texts. He cites Genesis 1:26 (“Let Us make man”), Genesis 3:22 (“Behold, Adam has become as one of us”), and Genesis 19:24 (“The Lord rained on Sodom sulphur and fire from the Lord out of heaven”) to argue for a plurality within the Godhead (Dialogue 62, 129). These passages, interpreted as conversations between the Father and the Son, prefigure Trinitarian distinctions. Justin’s use of Proverbs 8, where Wisdom (identified as the Son) is “begotten before all the hills,” further supports the Son’s eternal existence (Dialogue 61).

  Finally, the claim that “most scholars” today agree that Justin’s theology is incompatible with Trinitarianism is simply inaccurate. The scholarly literature is divided: some, especially those hostile to Nicene orthodoxy or influenced by historicist reductionism, read Justin as a subordinationist, while many others see him as a crucial link in the tradition that culminates in Nicaea. Justin does not possess the conceptual vocabulary to articulate the homoousion or the eternal generation of the Son as Nicaea does; but his logic, his scriptural exegesis, and his analogies all point toward the very realities that would later be defined. He is not a “proto-Arian” but a witness to the Church’s perennial faith that the Logos is truly God from God, Light from Light, begotten not made, of one substance with the Father.

  While Justin’s theology predates the Nicene Creed and lacks its precise terminology, it contains the seeds of Trinitarian doctrine. The video correctly notes that concepts like homoousios were formalized later, but it errs in dismissing Justin’s theology as non-Trinitarian. Scholars like D.T. Sheffler argue that “the basic outlines of Trinitarian doctrine are in the pages of the New Testament,” and Justin’s writings reflect this early development (Justin Martyr on the Trinity). Justin’s triadic references to Father, Son, and Spirit in First Apology 6 and 60, where he mentions the Holy Spirit as the third in the divine order, suggest a proto-Trinitarian framework. The statement that the Son is “God the Son of God” and “deserving to be worshipped as God and as Christ” (Dialogue 63:5, 128:1) affirms the Son’s full divinity.

  The video’s citation of scholars like Diels and Hillar reflects a selective reading. While some scholars emphasize Justin’s subordinationist language, others, such as J.N.D. Kelly (Early Christian Doctrines), argue that Justin’s theology is a precursor to Nicene orthodoxy, emphasizing the Son’s eternal pre-existence and shared essence. Justin’s use of Psalm 45 and 110 to identify the Son as “God” and “Lord of Hosts” (Dialogue 36, 37) further supports his high Christology, as these titles are reserved for Yahweh in the Old Testament. The video’s claim that Justin’s theology is closer to a Middle Platonic demiurge ignores his biblical grounding and monotheistic commitment.

  The video selectively cites scholars like Diels and Hillar to support a subordinationist reading, but this overlooks the broader context of Justin’s writings and the views of scholars like Bird and Kelly, who see his theology as foundational to Trinitarianism. The accusation of retrojecting Nicene theology is valid to an extent, as Justin’s terminology is not identical to later creeds, but his emphasis on the Son’s deity, pre-existence, and unity with the Father aligns more closely with proto-Trinitarianism than Arianism.

  Justin wrote in a second-century context where Christian theology was still developing. The Council of Nicaea (325 AD) later clarified the Son’s co-equality and consubstantiality with the Father, but Justin’s writings predate this by over 150 years. His use of Middle Platonic concepts, such as the Logos as a mediator, was a strategic apologetic tool to make Christianity intelligible to a Greco-Roman audience. However, his reliance on biblical texts, such as John 1:1 (“the Word was God”) and Old Testament theophanies, grounds his theology in Christian revelation, not merely philosophy.

  The video’s claim that Justin’s theology is closer to a Middle Platonic demiurge or world soul ignores his monotheistic framework. In On the Sole Government of God, Justin affirms that there is only one God, and his triadic references in First Apology 6 and 60 include the Spirit, suggesting a proto-Trinitarian understanding. His rejection of polytheism (Address to the Greeks) and his insistence that the Son is worshipped as God (First Apology 63) further demonstrate his commitment to monotheism, where the Father, Son, and Spirit are distinct persons within one divine essence.

  In summary, the Arian reading is anachronistic, wooden, and reductionist. It is blind to the nuances of Greek, deaf to the idioms of second-century Christian theology, and tone-deaf to the organic continuity of dogma. Justin’s “other God” is not a lesser being, but a distinct hypostasis within the one Godhead. His use of “begotten” and analogies of fire and light are not mere philosophical window-dressing, but genuine efforts to articulate personal distinction within essential unity. The subordinationist flavor reflects the theological grammar of his era, not an endorsement of ontological inequality. Justin stands not with Arius, but with the fathers who confessed, at Nicaea, the Son’s full divinity and coeternity with the Father. Any other reading is not only unhistorical but fundamentally un-Christian.

  Justin Martyr’s theology is best understood as proto-Trinitarian, laying the groundwork for later Nicene formulations. His use of “another God” simply reflects a distinction in personhood, not a separate or lesser deity, as evidenced by his analogies of fire and light, his affirmation of the Son’s eternal pre-existence, and his inclusion of the Son in divine worship. The video’s claims, while highlighting Justin’s Middle Platonic influences, misrepresent his theology by overemphasizing subordinationist elements and ignoring his monotheistic and biblical commitments. Justin’s theology directly opposes Arianism’s view of the Son as a created being, instead affirming the Son’s full divinity and unity with the Father, making him a precursor to orthodox Trinitarian doctrine.
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  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  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.
• 
  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  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.
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  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

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  3. 
• 

  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.
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  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

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  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.”
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  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  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.
• 
  52

  Should Jesus be worshipped?

  by Melody in

  1. watchtower
  2. bible

  can anyone explain why jesus should or should not be worshipped?.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  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.”