Krister Stendahl taught his American students in many ways, none more important than by compelling to us to look at the way we look at the ancient texts.

It is my intention to discuss one question only, and not all the problems which are connected with the group of documents published as ‘The Adler Papyri’ by Mr. E. N. Adler together with his collaborators, the late Professor F. Ll. Griffith, Dr. F. M. Heichelheim and Mr. J. G. Tait in 1939. This question is: Are there any traces of Jewish religious influence to be found in the Adler Archive, as has been suggested by the editors?

The general concern of Austin Farrer's deservedly well-known approach to our discernment of God's activity in the world is to ground it in our knowledge of our own selves as agents, especially as we interact with God as Divine Agent. In his book The Glass of Vision, Farrer develops an account of how this overall approach applies to the concept of revelation and religious language. The “text” he chose for this book, “Now we see through a glass darkly,” sounds as promising as the title.

A quick glance through the commentaries and translations will show that most scholars see no serious textual problems in Isa 28:12. Laberge has suggested that “he said,” be corrected to “I kept saying,” and everyone notes the extra aleph at the end of “they were (not) willing …,” but otherwise the text appears to be universally regarded as sound. The present writer does not share that optimism, however. Perhaps the following stichometric arrangement of the verse will convey the difficulty he perceives:

Julius Wellhausen proposed a “sharp break” between ancient Israelite religion and early Judaism: for him, the eighth-century prophets were the “spiritual destroyers of old Israel” and the forerunners of early Judaism. The biblical theologian Brevard Childs rejected Wellhausen’s reconstruction and insisted instead that “very strong theological continuity” characterized the development of Israelite religion from its outset. Numerous contemporary theological interpreters share Childs’s perspective. However, a “Wellhausen renaissance” is currently underway in the study of Israelite religion and early Judaism. This situation poses an unresolved challenge for theological interpretation, at least of the kind that Childs advocated. The present article addresses this dilemma. It first inventories Childs’s reasons for opposing Wellhausen’s sharp break, which emerge from Childs’s vision for scriptural “theo- referentiality.” Secondly, it tests whether Childs’s theological insights, the very same that led to his repudiation of Wellhausen, might accommodate Wellhausen’s historical claim. The final result is to set Wellhausen and Childs, historical reconstruction and theological interpretation, in a noncompetitive relationship.

On 12 July 1969, Huey P. Newton, cofounder of the Black Panther Party, wrote “Prison, Where Is Thy Victory?,” a socialist critique of America’s penal system that focused on its inability to rehabilitate prisoners. Beyond its explicit rejection of American capitalism, his essay, with its very title, also invokes two passages from the Bible—Paul’s epistle to the Corinthians (1 Cor 15:55) and the book of the prophet Hosea (Hos 13:14) —although Newton never elaborates on their allusive force. Intertextually bound to Newton’s title, these biblical passages function as a type of guiding lens through which “full-knowing readers” can engage Newton’s treatment of mass incarceration. This essay provides such an intertextual reading of “Prison” vis-à-vis 1 Cor 15 and Hos 13, with particular attention to the ways Newton’s biblical models simultaneously enrich and complicate interpretations of “Prison.”

In marked contrast to much of twentieth-century psychology and philosophy, prevailing accounts of affect, emotion, and sentiment in the eighteenth century took these phenomena to be rational and, to a certain extent, cognitive.1 Because of a combination of disciplinary diffusion and general lack of physicalist assumptions, accounts of affectivity in the eighteenth century also tended to be quite flexible and nuanced. This is particularly true of an influential stream of Anglo-Scottish and German thought on morality, aesthetics, and the philosophy of religion. Following Shaftesbury, many of the most prominent philosophers of the century regarded affective states and processes as playing a crucial role in accounts of value. In most cases, this tendency was combined with a sort of anti-rationalism, that is, with a tendency to minimize the role of reason in everything from common sense perceptual knowledge to religious belief. Hutcheson's moral sense theory and his well-known and influential criticisms of moral rationalism exemplify this trend.2 It is perhaps more pronounced in Lord Kames, who followed the lead of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson in aesthetics, moral theory, philosophy of religion, anthropology, and history.3 In Germany, this stream of thought was quite well-received by philosophers both inside and outside the dominant Wolffian tradition.4 Particularly important and influential in this respect were Johann Georg Hamann, who drew upon Hutcheson, Hume, and the “Common Sense” school to defend a conception of faith as “sentiment (Empfindung),” and Johann Gottfried Herder, a polymath and philosophical pioneer whose work in psychology, anthropology, history, aesthetics, biblical criticism, and theology consistently stresses the fundamental role of passion, affect, and sensibility in every aspect of human culture.5

There is something right about the hoary old claim that Protestantism spawned individualism. It has been challengedfrom all sides: by those who argue the reverse, by historians of religion who point out that introspective piety was not unique to the early modern period, and by scholars who demonstrate that early Protestants were deeply invested in ecclesiology and communal rituals. Yet this claim—even though clunky and inadequate—remains important, not least because it highlights an enduring link between the way we interpret early Protestant texts and the way we understand individualism today. Consider John Donne's famous denial of isolation, written nearly four hundred years ago: “No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe.” This statement compels us because it refutes what often feels irrefutable: that each person is, essentially, a solitary being, and that, while this existential state may be ameliorated, it is an unavoidable fact of life.

La traduction de la quatrième demande du Pater a toujours été laborieuse, et la dernière en date chez les Chrétiens francophones frise la tautologie: Donne-nous anjourd'hui notre pain de ce jour. En mars 1966, dans une lettre à une haute personnalité religieuse où j'exprimais mes réserves sur le texte de ce Pater oecuménique, j'attribuai ces diffcultés à une méconnaissance du substrat sémitique, que je supposais être quelque chose comme , , autrement dit un hébraïsme qui se réduit à: Donne nous notre pain quotidien

Within the large collection of ancient manuscripts at the University of Michigan there is a group of Coptic papyri which appears to have been a hoard or library of ancient magical texts. Produced by five copyists sometime in the fourth through seventh centuries and originating from a now unknown location in Egypt, the collection was brought to the British Museum by Sir E. A. Wallis Budge in February 1921 for restoration by C. T. Lamacraft; in August of that year, it underwent philological examination by the Coptic lexicographer Walter E. Crum, and was later forwarded to the University of Michigan.

Three recent movements in Canada towards a clearer expression of Christian unity have special significance—the co-operation of the Theological Colleges affiliated to McGill University, the organization of the Church Unity League, and the negotiations for the organic union of the Congregational, Methodist, and Presbyterian Communions.

The problem of Jesus, which by its very nature must always remain of present concern, seems of late to have stirred a keener interest than for many years past. Never have the publications relating to Jesus and to the problem of the origins of Christianity been so abundant as to-day, and more than ever before do men crave an exact idea of the true story of Jesus and the conditions in which Christianity had its origin.

A small gem in the possession of Mr. Henri Seyrig, Director of the French Archaeological Institute in Beyrouth, may be briefly described as follows:

Obverse. Inscription in five lines, μέγα τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου Σάραπις. Crescent moon under the last line.

Reverse. Inscription in six and a half lines,μεγάλη τύχη τῆς ἀνικήτον νεωτέρας. Star after the last letter.

Brown and dark green jasper. Upright oval, 18 × 13 mm.

The obverse inscription, without κυρίου, encircles a bust a Sarapis engraved on a jasper in the British Museum; see British Museum Quarterly, 11, 33-34. Several more examples, all omitting κυρίου, are cited by Peterson (Heis Theos, 208 f.). Almost all of them treat the name Σάραπις as indeclinable. Evidently the sentence is a common acclamation, which requires no further comment.

The inscription on the reverse, which has not been found elsewhere in just this form, needs closer examination.

The career of a man who devotes his life to reflection upon philosophy and religion, whose active work consists in teaching these subjects and in writing about them, is little likely to furnish incidents meet for flamboyant biography. But it may well be a source of profound influence, destined to affect the culture of a people or an age long after events that splash noisily upon the momentary surface have sunk into oblivion. Now Caird constituted an exceptional force, particularly in that native home of English-speaking philosophy and religion, Scotland; as such he merits memorial in these pages. Moreover, we must remember that, although, to his great regret, expressed to me often, he never visited the United States, his spirit has wrought strongly on this continent. Years ago, when I was a young Fellow at Glasgow, I received a letter from an American philosopher which concluded with words that have always stuck in my memory, “We look to Glasgow for light and leading.” Here Glasgow happened to be a synonym for the brothers Caird.

In the preparation of the following survey two methods were possible. I might select for fuller notice certain of the most important productions and by means of them illustrate the progress in this branch of historical science during the period of the war, or I might endeavor to give as complete an account of the literature as possible, including notices of less significant but nevertheless useful publications. I decided upon the second course, partly because the mass of production seemed to me too large and varied to be satisfactorily exhibited by the more or less arbitrary selection of a few works, partly because it often happens that a seemingly unimportant note may be of worth to some scholar who happens to be pursuing research in that particular field—something which in the many years during which I edited the Theologische Jahresbericht I have often found true in my own experience and that of others. Unfortunately the Jahresbericht, which seemed to us indispensable, as well as the Theologische Rundschau, edited by Bousset, whose untimely death we mourn, have both succumbed to the unfavorable conditions of the times. All the more necessary does it seem to create at least a partial substitute for them, and I embraced the opportunity offered me by the editors of this Review the more gladly because in my own country it will for the present be quite impossible to publish such a survey.

It seems suitable, when honoring a dean who has become a bishop, to write on an episcopal theologian who thought he could answer Gnostics by discussing curriculum. I doubt that in either office Krister Stendahl would ever have taken such a tack. It is odd to see Irenaeus doing so.

In her recent book Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women, Susan Faludi pointed out the violence endemic to the Wild Man paradigm set forth in Robert Bly's Iron John:

For months, Bly has refused requests for an interview—his media interviews are largely with men—but today he accedes to a brief conversation over lunch. Between man-size bites of a sandwich, the poet says he bars women from most of his events because men need a sanctuary from a female-dominated world. “There's no place for the warrior in this country. The feminists have taken over from the Catholic priests.” And this is only the start of the female incursion. “I just see it getting worse and worse. Men will become more and more insecure, farther from their own manhood. Men will become more like women.…” What evidence does he have that all this is happening, or that feminism is actually turning men “soft”? The venerable poet flies into a sudden rage. “I don't need evidence. I have brains, that's how I know.”

In an examination of the influence of the Book of Enoch on certain motifs in Milton's Paradise Lost, Mr. Grant McColley challenges the commonly accepted belief that Bruce was the first to restore to Western Civilization the knowledge of the existence of I Enoch, which had passed out of circulation during the early centuries of Christianity. Mr. McColley's belief that at least the existence of I Enoch was known to certain persons in the mid-seventeenth century and before rests on quotations from three popular travel books of the time: Sandys' Relation of a Journey (1615), Purchas His Pilgrimage (1613), and Peter Heylyn's Cosmography (1652). These authors all agree that the Ethiopians, or Abyssinians, had books containing the ‘oracles’ or ‘writings’ of the patriarch Enoch.