Jesus Is Not God In The New Testament?

A recent debate, Jesus Is Not God In The New Testament, between Michael Bird, New Testament Scholar, and Dale Tuggy, Analytic Philosopher of Religion, is very revealing. It does more than present two theological positions regarding Jesus, Unitarian or Trinitarian; it exposes how those positions are formed and how the framework we bring to them can often settle the outcome long before the text is given a real hearing.

The reality is that most Unitarian debates about the nature of Jesus begin to turn in on themselves, like a snake eating its own tail.

If Jesus died, he can’t be divine. If he’s not divine, then of course he can die.

Humans can’t overcome sin. But Jesus did, so perhaps obedience is within human reach after all.

Only God can be worshipped. Yet Jesus is worshipped throughout the New Testament. So a man can receive what belongs to God.

These arguments don’t just go in circles. At the heart of it is a deeper issue. They begin from a premise that determines the conclusion before Scripture has any chance to challenge it. But once that premise is examined more robustly, the whole structure begins to falter.

Jesus Is Not The God Of The New Testament

Dale Tuggy’s premise is that Jesus is not the God of the Old Testament. And at first glance, the case against Jesus’ full divinity may sound compelling.

Jesus doesn’t know everything. He’s tempted. He suffers. He dies. He calls the Father “his God.” These are real texts, and we don’t have the liberty to ignore or discount them. But Christians who hold to a trinitarian understanding would agree on this. These texts matter. They speak clearly of Jesus’, humanity, something that Orthodox Christianity has always taken very seriously.

In his work Against Heresies, Irenaeus (AD130-202) argues that salvation depends on Christ’s real humanity: “If he did not truly take flesh, he did not truly redeem us.” If Jesus wasn’t truly human, then the atonement falls apart.

But the issue isn’t what’s included. It’s what’s left out.

Dale Tuggy’s entire case is built on passages that highlight Jesus’ humanity, while consistently downplaying or reinterpreting the passages that point to something more. That’s not a full reading of the New Testament. It’s a selective one, and that selectivity is where the argument begins to break down.

Worshipping Jesus As God

One of the most revealing moments in the debate comes when Tuggy argues that the Old Testament prohibition on worshipping other gods belongs to the religious context of the ancient Near East. On that reading, Israel is being told to worship Yahweh rather than the gods of the nations, but, Tuggy asserts, this doesn’t necessarily rule out worship being given to Jesus, a mere human, in the New Testament.

That is an astonishingly small view of biblical monotheism.

The God of Israel is not intended to be merely Israel’s preferred deity in contrast to rival regional gods. He is the only true God, the Maker of heaven and earth, the sovereign Lord over all. There are no gods beside Him in any ultimate sense, whether in the ancient world, the modern world, or the age to come. Biblical monotheism is not a tribal preference. It’s a claim about reality itself.

That matters because it means the command to worship God alone is not a temporary rule shaped by polytheistic culture. It flows from who God is. Worship belongs to Him because He alone is God.

This is why Tuggy’s appeal to context doesn’t solve the problem. It weakens monotheism at the very point where Scripture strengthens it.

The early Christians didn’t become less Jewish in their understanding of God. They remained fiercely monotheistic. And yet they worshipped Jesus. They prayed to him, sang to him, invoked his name, and honoured him in ways that go far beyond thanking a servant for faithful obedience. That’s why Michael Bird’s point lands so sharply. If Jesus isn’t truly included in the divine identity, then the worship of Jesus isn’t just odd, it’s blasphemous.

Tuggy tries to escape that conclusion by saying that God willed it. But that only conflates the issue. Can God command what would otherwise be idolatry? Can the one true God authorise the worship of a mere creature without collapsing the very distinction Scripture insists upon between Creator and creature? Of course, God can do anything. But will He do something that clearly contradicts His own nature?

Tuggy never really answers that. He simply asserts that Jesus is the exception.

And so the snake begins to eat its own tail.

Exceptions of that magnitude demand explanation. And the New Testament gives one. Jesus is not worshipped because monotheism has been relaxed or because he has been elevated as a reward for faithful obedience. He is worshipped because he is included within the identity of the one God.

The Appeal To “Clear Texts” Is Selective

Tuggy repeatedly says that the “clear” passages about Jesus’ humanity should govern the “difficult” passages about his divinity. That sounds reasonable until you notice how selectively it works.

John 1 becomes a difficult text. Philippians 2 becomes a difficult text. Hebrews 1 becomes a difficult text. Thomas calling the risen Christ “my Lord and my God” becomes a difficult text. Jesus receiving the worship due only to Yahweh in Revelation 5 becomes a difficult text. Jesus’ “before Abraham was, I am” (including the rest of John 8) becomes a difficult text. His authority to forgive sins becomes a difficult text. His place in the divine name and identity becomes a difficult text.

At some point, this stops looking like a method and starts looking like a filter.

If every text that points strongly toward Christ’s divinity is made pliable, metaphorical, secondary, or uncertain, while every text that points to his humanity is treated as decisive, then the conclusion has been settled before the exegesis begins.

Orthodox Christianity doesn’t deny any of the human texts. It insists on them. But it also refuses to explain away the divine texts. It holds both together because the New Testament does.

John 8:58 Isn’t Just About Foreordination

Tuggy’s handling of John 8:58 is a good example. He wants Jesus’ words to mean only that he was foreordained in the plan of God before Abraham. But that’s much thinner than the actual exchange in John’s Gospel.

The wording in John 8 is strange if all Jesus means is “Abraham knew about me.”

He doesn’t say, before Abraham knew about me, I was foreordained, or even, before Abraham, I existed in God’s plan. That would have been a far more natural way to express Tuggy’s interpretation. Instead, he says:

“Before Abraham was, I am.”

That is an unusual construction. He contrasts Abraham’s coming into being with his own “I am.” One is placed in the category of becoming, the other in the category of ongoing existence.

Even if someone wants to avoid the full weight of the divine name in Exodus, the contrast itself still does the heavy lifting. Abraham came to be. Jesus simply is.

And that’s what makes the reaction so telling.

The crowd doesn’t respond as though Jesus has made a harmless claim about being part of God’s long-term plan. They pick up stones. Whatever nuances we debate today, they heard something far more radical than foreordination. And Jesus, knowing their thoughts and seeing their reaction did nothing to disabuse them of their supposed misunderstanding.

Even more broadly, John’s Gospel repeatedly presents Jesus in categories that far exceed mere human mission. The Word was with God and was God. All things were made through him. He shares the Father’s glory. He has come from above. He speaks of the glory he had with the Father before the world existed. A reading that insists none of this involves real preexistence has to do a great deal of interpretive cutting.

John 10 And Psalm 82 Don’t Rescue Unitarianism

The same is true of John 10.

Tuggy argues that Jesus’ appeal to Psalm 82 shows that he is lowering the claim. If even Israel’s judges can be called gods, then surely “Son of God” isn’t blasphemous. There is something to that, but only up to a point. Jesus isn’t retreating into a merely human category. He is exposing the inconsistency of his opponents. If their own Scriptures can use exalted language for human judges, how much more is his claim warranted as the one consecrated and sent by the Father.

But the wider context matters. This is the same Jesus who has just said, “I and the Father are one.” This isn’t bare messianism. Nor is it a random claim to authority. The whole chapter presses toward a unique relationship with the Father that goes far beyond what Psalm 82 says of unjust judges.

So yes, Psalm 82 helps dismantle the immediate blasphemy accusation. But no, it doesn’t reduce Jesus to a merely human figure. It functions within a larger Johannine presentation that consistently pushes the reader toward a much higher Christology.

“Only God Can Forgive Sins” Isn’t Neutralised by Delegated Authority

Tuggy also treats Jesus’ forgiveness of sins as something easily delegated. If God can authorise a man to forgive sins, then there is no reason to see anything divine in Mark 2. But that underplays the force of the passage.

The point isn’t simply that forgiveness is announced. The point is that Jesus – supposedly a mere man – forgives with personal authority, and does so in a context where the scribes recognise the theological weight of what’s happening. They may be hostile, but Mark doesn’t present their instinct as absurd. The miracle that follows vindicates Jesus’ authority in precisely this sphere.

Yes, the crowd glorifies God. But that’s hardly a problem for a Trinitarian reading. Orthodox Christianity has never said that honour given to the Son diminishes the Father. The question is what sort of authority Jesus is exercising, and why it’s portrayed in such striking terms.

Tuggy’s debt forgiveness analogy is far too weak for the actual scene. A human messenger announcing pardon on another’s behalf is not the same thing as the Son of Man declaring forgiveness of sinful humans – humans who have rebelled against the only Sovereign God – in his own authority and then proving it by commanding the paralytic to walk.

Another major weakness in Tuggy’s case is the trial scene. He wants the blasphemy charge to be about a false messianic claim alone. But that doesn’t fit well with the material Jesus actually cites.

When Jesus speaks of the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming with the clouds of heaven, he isn’t just saying, “I am the Messiah.” He’s invoking Daniel 7 and Psalm 110 in a way that places himself in the sphere of divine authority and eschatological rule. That’s why the response is so severe.

A mere claim to be Messiah might have been politically dangerous, and plenty of “messiahs” came and went both before and after Jesus, but it doesn’t sufficiently explain the intensity of the blasphemy charge. Bird is right to press this point. The issue isn’t that Jesus says, “I am a king.” The issue is that he speaks in categories that would have sounded like a staggering elevation of his status in relation to God.

Revelation 5 Remains A Huge Problem For A Merely Human Christ

Tuggy’s handling of Revelation 5 also leaves the central issue untouched.

Yes, the Lamb is praised because of his obedience, death, and redemption. But the scene doesn’t merely thank him. It places him in the heavenly throne room, receiving universal worship alongside the One seated on the throne. That isn’t a casual reward ceremony for a faithful man. It’s the inclusion of the Lamb within the worship of heaven.

Tuggy wants to say that Jesus is worshipped for his service and that this, in turn, glorifies the Father. But Trinitarians agree that the Son’s glory redounds to the Father. The question isn’t whether the Father remains supreme in some source sense. The question is whether a mere creature can be given the worship depicted here without idolatry. Revelation elsewhere is very clear that worship must not be misdirected. Angels refuse it. Creatures do not receive it. Yet the Lamb does.

That’s why this is such a pressure point. Tuggy needs the worship of Jesus to be real enough to honour the text, but not so real that it implies divinity. The result is unstable.

The “Human Only” Language In The Gospels Proves Too Much

Tuggy’s argument that the Gospels make Jesus’ messiahship their main point, and therefore cannot believe in his divinity, sounds clever but doesn’t hold.

Of course, the Evangelists want readers to see that Jesus is the Messiah. That isn’t in tension with his divinity. In fact, in the New Testament, those truths belong together. The Messiah isn’t less than divine because he is the Messiah. He is the divine Son who has come as Israel’s Messiah. This is the startling import of Isaiah’s words, repeated by John the Baptist, clearly in reference to Jesus: “Clear the way…God is coming.“

Likewise, the frequent use of human terms such as “man,” “Jesus of Nazareth,” or “Christ Jesus” proves far less than Tuggy wants. Trinitarian theology has never denied that Jesus is a man. Calling him a man doesn’t decide the question of whether he is also more than a man. It simply affirms his real humanity, which orthodoxy already insists upon.

This is why Tuggy’s repeated appeal to “human person” language is less decisive than it first appears. He treats the issue as though orthodoxy denies Christ’s humanity unless it adopts his philosophical account of personhood. But the New Testament itself isn’t operating with that later philosophical precision. It presents one Lord Jesus Christ who is fully human and yet also spoken of in ways no mere human could bear.

Can We Trust The Witness Of The Early Church?

This is where Tuggy’s argument takes a noticeable turn. When the New Testament begins to press beyond a purely human Christ, the question shifts. Can this reading really be traced back to the earliest Christians, or is it a later development imposed onto the text?

Once it becomes clear that high Christology is not a late imperial invention, the strategy changes again. Rather than resolving that evidence, it’s called into question.

Tuggy does this by suggesting that figures like Ignatius may have passed through the hands of corruptors and become something of a political football.

This isn’t a neutral historical observation. It’s a strategic suspicion, introduced right where the evidence becomes inconvenient.

Yes, textual history is complex. Yes, ancient transmission requires care. But there’s a large difference between recognising textual issues and treating every witness to Christ’s divinity as though it were probably manipulated. That sort of suspicion can quickly become a universal solvent. It dissolves any evidence that resists the theory.

And worse, it cuts into the ground beneath the New Testament itself. The same early church that transmitted the words of Ignatius, Iranaeus, or Polycarp also transmitted the apostolic writings. The same manuscript culture, same scribal world, same ecclesial memory. If the solution to every awkward early witness is that it was tampered with, then one has begun to poison the well from which one still expects others to drink.

More importantly, the case for Christ’s divinity doesn’t depend on Ignatius. Ignatius matters because he shows how early and widespread such a belief was. But the centre of the argument remains the New Testament itself. Ignatius is corroborative, not foundational. Suspicion toward him doesn’t make John, Paul, Hebrews, or Revelation disappear.

As Michael points out, Trinitarian theology is a hermeneutic through which to read the witness of all the New Testament, not just a few selected texts cobbled together to force a conclusion the rest of Scripture won’t sustain. And this hermeneutic isn’t something that slowly emerges centuries later. It’s part of the earliest Christian witness.

Tradition, at its best, doesn’t invent doctrine. It preserves and clarifies what Scripture already reveals. As Michael Bird puts it, it’s like learning which mushrooms are poisonous without having to eat them yourself. You still test everything against the word of God, but you don’t pretend you are the first person to read it.

The Emotional Appeal To A “Simpler Gospel” Isn’t Enough

Tuggy ends by promising a simpler, more preachable, more believable gospel. But simplicity isn’t the measure of truth. A gospel can be easy to explain and still be too small.

In fact, this is one of the deepest problems with his whole case. It consistently reduces rather than resolves. Jesus becomes easier to fit into our categories, but less able to bear the weight the New Testament places on him. He can inspire, model obedience, and perhaps mediate in some representative sense as the priests of old, but the blazing centre of the Christian gospel is lost. God hasn’t come among us. God has merely sent another.

And that has real consequences for the atonement.

If Jesus is only a man, even a uniquely empowered and perfectly obedient one, then what exactly has happened at the cross? At best, we’re left with an example of faithfulness under pressure, or a representative act that God chooses to accept. But Scripture speaks of something far deeper than that.

Sin isn’t merely a pattern to be corrected. It’s a condition that separates us from God and places us under judgment. It’s not something another human can simply overcome on our behalf and then pass on as a kind of moral achievement. If a mere man lives faithfully, that faithfulness belongs to him. It doesn’t somehow undo the guilt of others.

This is where Tuggy’s model collapses. It assumes that obedience alone can carry the weight of salvation, but the New Testament doesn’t speak that way. It speaks of God acting in Christ to deal with sin decisively. Not by sending someone else to try where Adam failed, but by entering the problem Himself.

Only then does the cross make sense as more than inspiration or moral example. Only then can it be the place where sin is truly dealt with, where death is actually defeated, and where reconciliation is secured.

The wonder of the gospel is not simply that a faithful man obeyed where Adam failed. It’s that the eternal Son entered our condition, took our flesh, bore our sin, conquered death, and now receives the worship of heaven and earth. The one who stands in our place is not less than God. He is God with us.

Where Tuggy Leaves The Biggest Questions Unanswered

In the end, this is what makes Bird’s case stronger. Not because every theological question is made easy, but because he’s willing to let all of Scripture stand.

Tuggy’s position, by contrast, still leaves some major questions unresolved.