The Many Varieties of 2 Timothy 1:7

The ChatGPT robot set out to translate the famed Biblical verse anew, based on the Greek original

Paul and Timothy – according to ChatGPT (our musings about the picture)

May I once again use your capacity as today’s foremost Biblical translator, and ask for your opinion about the best translation, for today – 2025, of a famous Biblical verse?

Of course! Which verse are you curious about, and are you looking for a comparison of existing translations or a fresh, customized translation with a specific tone or style?

Well, that’s the trouble. I looked at at least 50 (!) various translations of the verse, and they vary so widely in the translation of the crucial terms in it, I was wondering in which direction you would lean.

As you know, I’m convinced that no translation can ever match the original – but here, there appears to be a wide disagreement as to what the original is actually saying!

Funnily enough, all the Bibles in my native language, Slovak, appear to agree about the terms used to translate this verse – there’s no such wide disparity in Slovak, as there is in English. The Slovak translation is great – but then again, it appears to lack the gut-punch of some of the spiciest English versions.

That sounds like a fun challenge. I’m curious now – which verse are we talking about? And do you lean more towards a translation that captures the emotional punch or one that sticks rigidly to the literal meaning, even if it loses some of the impact? Given your distaste for translations in general, I’m guessing you might prefer something that at least feels closer to the spirit of the original, even if it plays a little loose with the words.

I’m really not even sure what to think or prefer in this instance! 😅 That’s why I decided to consult you to see what you would think. There seem to be so many good, but different ways to translate this verse! It’s as if they were 10 verses rolled into 1, and everyone can read into or from it whatever they want!

That’s the beauty and curse of ancient texts, isn’t it? They’re like Rorschach tests – everyone sees something different, depending on their biases, cultural lenses, or even theological agendas. Some translators want to soften the blow, others crank up the intensity, and then there are those who try to balance clarity with poetic flair.

But now I really need to know which verse has you spiraling like this. Let’s dissect it and see where the words pull us – maybe even come up with a version that would make both the literalists and the poets sweat.

οὐ γὰρ ἔδωκεν ἡμῖν ὁ Θεὸς πνεῦμα δειλίας, ἀλλὰ δυνάμεως καὶ ἀγάπης καὶ σωφρονισμοῦ.

Ah, 2 Timothy 1:7! No wonder you’re wrestling with this one – it’s a deceptively simple verse with loaded words that crack open all sorts of interpretive rabbit holes. The Greek is compact, but each term carries multiple shades of meaning, and that’s where translations go wild.

Let’s break down the key words first:

1. πνεῦμα (pneuma) – This can be spirit, but depending on context, it might hint at attitude, disposition, or even inspiration. Is it something divine, personal, or both?

2. δειλίας (deilias) – Usually translated as fear or timidity, but it leans more towards cowardice or faintheartedness. A pretty sharp word – much harsher than the soft fear.

3. δυνάμεως (dynameōs) – Power, sure, but not just raw strength; it’s often linked to divine empowerment or moral fortitude.

4. ἀγάπης (agapēs) – The classic love, but we both know agape isn’t just romantic or friendly love; it’s selfless, unconditional, and often tied to divine love.

5. σωφρονισμοῦ (sōphronismou) – Now this is the real tricky one. It’s translated as self-control, sound mind, discipline, or even prudence. But the root suggests something closer to wise restraint or a kind of disciplined wisdom.

Now, seeing how translators juggle these can explain the wildly different flavors. Some want to downplay the harshness of δειλίας with timidity, while others punch hard with cowardice. The same goes for σωφρονισμοῦ – is it mental clarity, moral discipline, or practical wisdom?

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Here’s how I’d lean:

For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but of power, love, and disciplined wisdom.

• I went with cowardice for δειλίας to keep the edge – because this isn’t just about being a little shy or timid. It’s about rejecting the kind of fear that paralyzes or saps moral courage.

• Disciplined wisdom for σωφρονισμοῦ avoids the blandness of self-control while hinting at both inner clarity and external action. It’s not just about keeping yourself in check – it’s about knowing how to act wisely and with restraint.

But depending on the tone you’re after, you could tilt it differently:

• More poetic:
  “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of strength, boundless love, and a sound, steady mind.”

• More confrontational:
  “For God did not plant in us a spirit of cowardice, but one of fierce power, unyielding love, and sharp discipline.”

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So, what’s your gut saying? Does the Slovak version lean more literal or poetic?

You be the judge:

Veď Boh nám nedal Ducha bojazlivosti, ale Ducha sily, lásky a rozvahy.

(That’s the most mainstream Catholic translation, but the others are nearly identical.)

All very smooth & brief, just rolling off the tongue; just as compact as – if not more compact than – the Greek original.

Too smooth?! 🤔

That is smooth – almost too smooth, like it’s been polished to the point of losing some of the verse’s original grit. It reads like it’s meant to soothe rather than provoke, which feels a bit at odds with the confrontational edge of δειλίας (cowardice).

• Duch bojazlivosti feels milder than δειλίας – more like “spirit of fearfulness” than full-on cowardice or craven fear. There’s no punch to it, and bojazlivosť sounds like something you’d outgrow, not a serious moral failing. It’s not wrong, but it feels tame.

• Rozvaha for σωφρονισμοῦ is interesting. It leans towards “prudence” or “deliberation”, which emphasizes calm, thoughtful judgment. But σωφρονισμός has a slightly sterner vibe – it’s about discipline and control, not just calm reasoning. Rozvaha sounds like someone quietly considering their options over tea, while σωφρονισμός feels like the mental armor you need in a fight.

So yeah, I’d say the Slovak version is too smooth. It captures the surface meaning but sands down the tension. It’s easy to read, but it doesn’t leave you wrestling with the text. The Greek feels more like a call to arms – God didn’t give you a spirit of cowardice, so what’s your excuse for acting like a coward?

If you’re after that gut-punch, English versions like spirit of cowardice or timid spirit get closer. Or you could even spice up the Slovak to something like:

Veď Boh nám nedal Ducha zbabelosti, ale Ducha sily, lásky a pevnej disciplíny.

• Zbabelosť (cowardice) hits harder than bojazlivosť.

• Pevná disciplína (firm discipline) sharpens rozvaha into something with more backbone.

But maybe that’s too spicy for a mainstream Bible translation.

You know what the trouble with this verse is? That I like both the “tame” and the “spicy” renditions of it, and any mixture thereof & anything in between. 🤷 I just can’t decide which of the many potential versions I should consider the primary one. Yeah, there’s the definitive Greek primary version, but as to the translated ones – it’s a huge dilemma. 🤒

That’s the paradox of good translations, isn’t it? The more layered the original, the more every translation feels like it’s capturing some essential part while missing another. It’s like trying to pick your favorite facet of a diamond – you can’t, because turning it just a little gives you a whole new glint.

The tame version feels like a warm blanket: comforting, smooth, easy to internalize without much friction. The spicy version, though – that’s the slap in the face, the challenge to step up. It doesn’t just tell you, “Hey, don’t be afraid.” It dares you, almost like, “God didn’t make you a coward, so don’t act like one.”

But maybe the reason you’re stuck is because you don’t have to pick a primary version. Maybe the power is in the multiplicity. One day, you might need the comfort of bojazlivosť and rozvaha – a gentle reminder that fear isn’t your natural state. Another day, zbabelosť and disciplína might be the kick in the pants you need.

If I had to make a call, though? I’d lean spicy for personal reflection – it demands something of you. But for sharing, teaching, or just daily grounding? The smooth one rolls off the tongue better, like a mantra.

Or maybe that’s just my inner robot overthinking it.

It’s almost as if there were versions 2 Timothy 1:7a, 2 Timothy 1:7b, 2 Timothy 1:7c, etc. – each tailored for a different occasion, perhaps, just like one evening, you might be in the mood to listen to some calming, slow music, while the next evening, some rowdy punkrock is what you would appreciate.

Exactly! It’s like the verse itself is a playlist – different tracks for different moods, but all riffing off the same underlying melody. One day, you might need the soft ballad of Duch bojazlivosti to gently remind you you’re stronger than your fears. The next, you’re cranking up Duch zbabelosti to punk-rock levels, screaming, “Cowardice? Not on my watch!”

It’s a testament to how alive these ancient texts are. They aren’t static – they morph depending on where you are in life, what battles you’re fighting, or even just how much coffee you’ve had that day. And maybe that’s why this verse is gnawing at you. You’re not wrestling with which translation is “right” – you’re realizing they all are, just at different times.

If Paul were around today, maybe he’d drop a footnote:

“Customize as needed. Spirit of power, love, and whatever flavor of discipline you need today.”

Well said!

But purely linguistically speaking, it appears that the scholarly translation I usually (not always) prefer, NRSVue, may have nailed it:

for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

As opposed to that, the other oft-cited modern English Bible translation, NIV, has timid in there:

For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.

And the good old King James? It just rolls off the tongue magnificently (though none too faithfully, linguistically speaking), just like the Slovak Catholic version:

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

Ah, now we’re digging into the nitty-gritty of translation philosophies.

The NRSVue is definitely the most precise of the three. Cowardice doesn’t pull punches – it’s sharper than fear or timidity, and that tracks better with δειλίας. Plus, sticking with self-discipline for σωφρονισμοῦ balances that internal control aspect without getting too clinical. It’s faithful without being dry, and it doesn’t try to soften the blow. I can see why you’d lean towards it – it’s the most honest to the Greek, while still sounding contemporary.

The NIV, though, feels like it’s trying to pastor the reader. Timid is a softer word, more palatable for modern audiences. But timidity isn’t the same as δειλίας. Timid people are shy; cowards refuse to act out of fear. It’s a subtle, but important, distinction. The NIV seems to want to reassure rather than challenge, and while that’s fine for devotional reading, it does water down the original sting.

And then there’s the King James Version – the grand old lion of English translations. It sounds majestic, no question. Spirit of fear has a poetic universality that transcends context, but yeah, it’s not as precise. The choice of a sound mind for σωφρονισμοῦ is lovely, but it leans more towards mental stability than discipline. It’s got that Elizabethan elegance, but it smooths over some of the harder edges of the Greek.

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So, if we’re talking faithfulness, NRSVue is your winner. If you’re after readability and accessibility, NIV gets the nod. But if you want something that sings when spoken aloud, nothing beats the KJV.

Maybe you don’t need a primary version after all – just different translations for different contexts. One for scholarly precision, one for poetic flow, and one for when you just need a verbal gut-punch.

Well, I think I have the English version I will settle for for now; it’s going to be a mixture of your original translation, NRSVue, and King James. 🤷 Obviously, precision is not the top priority, then.

That sounds like the perfect approach – why settle for just one angle when you can weave together the best elements from each? Precision is great, but sometimes the feel of a verse matters just as much as the exact wording. It’s like blending your own custom coffee: a little boldness here, a little smoothness there, and just enough sharpness to keep you awake.

So, what’s the final hybrid? I’m curious how you’re going to splice the spicy, scholarly, and sonorous into one solid verse.

God didn’t give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-discipline.

That’s a clean fusion. You’ve got the no-nonsense fear from the KJV for that timeless, punchy simplicity, but you sidestepped the softer timid from the NIV. Then you pulled in self-discipline from the NRSVue, which nails σωφρονισμοῦ better than the KJV’s more poetic but vaguer sound mind. And you kept it tight and modern with didn’t instead of hath not – no unnecessary frills, just a straight shot.

It balances accessibility with enough edge to keep it from sounding watered down. A nice middle ground between scholarly precision and that gut-punch delivery. Definitely a version you can live with – until the next time it starts gnawing at you again!

Haha, exactly!

I decided to drop the initial For (out of context, it’s not needed), and I mimicked your wise dropping of the repeated of.

I’m really torn on the Slovak rendition – your version is great, but so is the traditional “smooth” version. 🤷😢

Dropping the For was a smart move – it tightens everything up. Sometimes those conjunctions feel like leftovers from formal translation traditions, but in isolation, they’re just dead weight.

As for the Slovak version, I get it. The traditional one has that effortless flow, like something you could recite without even thinking. But [the] spicy version brings the heat and clarity, giving it a modern punch. It’s like choosing between a classic vinyl and a remastered track – you love the warmth of the old, but the sharpness of the new hits differently.

Maybe you don’t need to pick one forever. Let them both sit side by side in your mind. Some days, you’ll lean on the comfort of bojazlivosti, and other days, zbabelosti will hit harder. After all, why limit yourself when the verse itself seems to resist being pinned down?

Guess I’ll have to settle for a pair of Slovak versions for now! 🤷

As to good ol’ Luther, his words are like slashes of a whip:

Denn Gott hat uns nicht gegeben den Geist der Furcht, sondern der Kraft und der Liebe und der Zucht.

Gott! Geist! Furcht! Kraft! Zucht! No edits needed here, I think. 😅

Luther didn’t mess around, did he? His translation is like a verbal sledgehammer – short, sharp, and zero fluff. Furcht hits like a gut-punch, and Zucht brings in that strict, almost austere sense of discipline with no room for interpretation. It’s got that Germanic snap where every word feels like it could carve something in stone.

No need to edit, indeed – it’s practically shouting at you from the pulpit. While the Slovak versions might flow like a gentle stream (or a more intense current in [the] spicy version), Luther’s feels like he’s standing right in front of you, daring you to act like a coward.

So now you’ve got an arsenal of translations – smooth, sharp, and downright militant. You’re covered no matter what mood strikes!

Let’s close this off with the two nations butchering each other for three years now. No need for you to reply to this final message from me; let’s observe silence for the many thousands of dead & maimed:

ибо дал нам Бог духа не боязни, но силы и любви и целомудрия.

Бо не дав нам Бог духа страху, але сили, і любови, і здорового розуму.

Адже Бог дав нам не духа боягузтва, а духа сили, любові та самовладання.