The belief in the greatness of individual human beings who are acknowledged as benefactors of the city, the nation, and humankind is as old as the beginnings of Western culture. When the first Christian apostles encountered this belief, it was already well established in the Greco-Roman world. And, with all its intriguing lure, it is still an important and pervasive current in our present situation. Indeed, this belief is very much alive as all of us face the demand for excellence in our teaching and our studies, as well as the expectation that graduates will emerge as recognized leaders in religious communities and in our society at large.

The Text The last sixteen lines of the remnants of the Exagōgē by the playwright Ezechielus depict the appearance of a wondrous and mysterious ζῷον. Since the fifth or sixth century, exegetes, with the singular exception of Israel Abrahams (see below, notes 33 and 56) have identified this wondrous creature with the mythical phoenix. This paper argues, however, that the ζῷον in the Exagōgē is a huge eagle that serves as a metaphor for God, drawn from Exod 19:4 and from chaps. 1 and 17 of the book of Ezekiel.

Jonathan Z. Smith, in discussing the transformation of the notion of sacred space in Judaism and the shift from a “locative” type of religious activity to one not limited to a fixed place, points to the necessity “to take history … seriously” and to examine closely how that transformation took place. We can take up this charge and illuminate the larger processes at work by focusing on the narrower problem of the proper protocol required when approaching sacred space. This will enable us to see how the postbiblical tradition revises, while at the same time it preserves, the biblical model of a sacred center.

Justin, a philosopher converted to Christianity, addresses these words to the Roman senate as he protests a recent case of arbitrary arrest and execution of Christians. Although outraged by the verdict, he cannot fault the judge, Urbicus, praetorian prefect of Rome, and personal friend of the imperial family. Justin knows that Urbicus only followed orders in pronouncing the mandatory death sentence against those convicted of atheism as evinced by their refusal to worship the gods or to sacrifice to the divine genius of the emperor. Instead Justin invokes the story of Genesis 6—the story of the fall of the angels—to indict the whole system of imperial power, and to attack the divine pantheon that supports it as a false government, a form of demonic tyranny.

I propose to discuss what might be called the “mechanics of conversion” in the countryside of the sixth-century later Roman Empire. This process consisted fundamentally in implanting monasteries in districts where few villages had been Christianized, or where the population was nominally Christian but so badly instructed that earlier pagan cult practices persisted. There is considerable evidence for rural conditions in the hagiographic lives of monks and in the ecclesiastical histories of this period. One of the principal difficulties in this sort of study is the geographic distribution of the sources. Hagiographic texts are, in effect, local histories, largely confined to the environs of the monastery. Thus, we are reasonably well informed about western Asia Minor and Galatia in the sixth century, for which sources like this exist, but hardly know anything about paganism in Greece until the tenth century, when monasteries finally began to appear in rural districts.

Rudolf Otto (1869–1937), well known for his book The Idea of the Holy, and Rudolf Bultmann (1884–1976), even more famous for his hermeneutical programs of demythologization and existential interpretation, had, according to Bultmann himself, “been friends at Breslau.” Although Bultmann admitted in 1969 with incorruptible fairness that “the calling of the systematic theologian Rudolf Otto was a great gain for the theological faculty at Marburg,” he also had to state that “Otto and I grew so far apart that our students, too, were aware of the antithesis between his work and mine.” Already ten years earlier, in his first autobiographical draft of 1959, Bultmann mentioned “tensions with R. Otto, Hermann's successor,” which “led to lively discussions” among the students at Marburg. Those tensions date back at least to the early twenties, as two letters of Bultmann to Karl Barth reveal. In the first letter, written at the end of 1922, Bultmann stigmatizes the notes of Otto to F. Schleiermacher's Reden, Über die Religion, as “totally misleading.” In a letter written in April 1927 Bultmann expresses the hope that the opposition at Marburg to the Swiss theologian Eduard Thurneysen might be overcome “in six months, when Otto will be in India.” Thurneysen belonged to the new movement of so-called Dialectical Theology.

The following exposition of a certain pattern of the spiritualization of sacrifice in the Christian and Hindu traditions is an experiment in “comparative theology”: that discipline within theology which seeks to reflect upon data from two (diverse) religious traditions taken together, for the sake of the new light thereby shed upon the two sets of data and on related issues, particularly in one's own “home” tradition. In particular, I will juxtapose a certain understanding of the development of the Biblical theology of sacrifice with one line of development in orthodox Vedic liturgical theology and its heirs: the Pūrva (or “prior”) Mīmāṃsā of Jaimini (ca. 200 BCE), the Vedānta (Uttara or “latter” Mīṃāmsā) of Rāmānuja (ca. 1000 CE), and the Śrīvaiṣṇava theology of Vedānta Deśika. It is not my intention to break new ground in the study of either the Biblical or Mīmāṃsā traditions, but rather to show how certain information that is already available regarding each of these traditions might be used in a comparative fashion in order to illuminate the other, and to ask about the value of the method herein employed.

An abstract of this essay would reveal two interests, one civil and one religious. The first has to do with a public debate over values in American elementary and secondary education and what this debate symbolizes about national life in general. Specifically, I want to suggest that the stated intentions of citizens who demand religious instruction in the public schools could only be fulfilled, logically, if this instruction included doctrines of eternal punishment—in short, the possibility of hell. This is especially true if they wish to restore moral instruction “as it used to be.” My second argument urges that such a teaching would impose on schools a doctrine that has disappeared or been drastically diminished in the preachments of most American religious groups. It is a doctrine that is hence not culturally available.

The British theological world was stirred at the beginning of the eighteenth century by what the learned and staunchly orthodox Presbyterian historian James Seaton Reid has called “latitudinarian notions on the inferiority of dogmatic belief and the nature of religious liberty.” In the 1690s John Locke had published his Reasonableness of Christianity and Letters on Toleration, followed by John Toland's Christianity Not Mysterious. In 1710 “Honest Will” Whitson, Sir Isaac Newton's successor as Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge, was expelled from the University for embracing Arian views. His departure was accompanied by rumors—long since substantiated—about his great predecessor's heterodox theology. Traditional theologians were shocked next by the appearance of Dr. Samuel Clark's Scripture Doctrine of the Trinity which resulted in the author's arraignment before Convocation of the Church of England in 1714. The very same year John Simson, Professor of Divinity in the University of Glasgow, was first tried before the General Assembly of the Scottish Presbyterian Church for teaching Arian and Pelagian errors. In 1729, after three more trials, Simson was suspended from his professorship for denying the numerical oneness of the Trinity. Fierce doctrinal contentions also began to occupy English Presbyterians, Congregationalists, and Baptists, erupting during the famous Salters’ Hall meeting early in 1719.