The Manuscript. This extraordinary tale survives in a single Coptic manuscript from the Gnostic Library of Nag‘Ḥammadi. Acquired by the Coptic Museum of Old Cairo in 1956, the manuscript bears the inventory number 10544 and in current nomenclature is designated codex Cairensis gnosticus II (CG II). In earlier scholarship it was codex I (J. Doresse, Vig. Christ. 3 [1949] 133–134), codex III (H.-Ch. Puech, Coptic Studies…Crum [1950]), and codex X (Doresse, Les livres secrets des gnostique d'Egypte, vol. I [1958].

The essential conservatism of medieval Biblical exegesis is well illustrated by the sources used by Andrew of St. Victor in his commentary on the books of Samuel. Despite his justified reputation as an exponent of literal exegesis, his originality and his freedom in his handling of his authorities, the overall appearance of his commentary is not all that different from the literal portions of the ninth-century commentaries of Rabanus Maurus and Angelomus of Luxeuil, despite the lapse of time and increasing sophistication of approach. Josephus, Jerome, Isidore, Bede, and Pseudo-Jerome continue to hold the field. In fact, in at least one respect there is a recession, as Rabanus and Angelomus knew how to distinguish between Jerome and Pseudo-Jerome (Hebraeus), whereas Andrew did not, and this in spite of his use of Rabanus and Angelomus, who had incorporated substantial chunks of Pseudo-Jerome into their commentaries.

I. The myths and epics of Ugarit are composed in poetic formulae and patterns which reveal original oral composition. Parallelistic structure derives, originally at least, from the techniques of orally composed poetry, and the use of traditional formulae including parallelistic pairs has been well established in Ugaritic and Early Hebrew poetry. Usually the formulaic structure gives an extreme symmetry or regularity to Ugaritic verse.

So much commentary and discussion concerning the significance of religious language has been marketed for consumption during the two decades since Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations first altered the grounds of inquiry in contemporary philosophy of religion that any new contribution to the subject is apt to kindle as much excitement as the average Sunday sermon. The progressive exhaustion of the topic, it may be argued, has resulted largely from this shift, inasmuch as philosophers of religion have thereby so narrowed the horizons of their researches in pursuing the “logical” dimensions of religious utterances that, once this side of the issue has been thoroughly charted, nothing substantial is left to explore. It does not require any prophetic cry in the wilderness to contend, therefore, in the manner that I propose here that (1) the “logical” or neo-Wittgensteinian approach to the problem of religious language must be transcended and that (2) any new perspective need not renounce with counter-revolutionary animus the achievements of analytic philosophy in this field, but merely attempt to arrive at a more subtle understanding of how religious language is employed.

In his suggestion of a “concatenous literary pattern” in Amos 1–2, S. Paul has drawn attention once again to the prosodic structure of the oracles against foreign nations preserved in Amos. His argument is most provocative but is seriously weakened by that troublesome verse, Amos I:II. As Paul has implicitly noted, the key to a proper reconstruction and interpretation of Amos 1–2 lies in a more accurate understanding of its prosodic structure.

Recent studies in the chronology of the monarchical period have demonstrated that the variations between the chronologies of MT and LXX are not the result of isolated misreadings, but are a product of different chronological calculations. These studies have been important not only for historical reconstruction, including new proposals for identification of kings involved in various war, but they have shed a good deal of light on the history of the text of the Hebrew Scriptures and LXX, including the Old Greek and the proto-Lucianic and kaige recensions. Furthermore, it is now possible to assign priority to one chronological system over another, and to understand why the different systems arose.

Introduction. Bloodless offerings of the most various kinds of food are a common and well-known feature of Greek sacrifice at all periods. The Greeks themselves thought of them as gifts for the gods (Plato, Euthyphr. 14c). The gift was delivered by simply putting it in a place, usually a shrine, where the god was present to receive it. This form of consecration has been given the appropriate technical name of “deposition,” to distinguish it from other methods of consecrating food-offerings to the gods — such as burning them or simply throwing them away.

On several occasions we have attempted to demonstrate the significance of a certain type of linguistic analysis, for discussing biblical texts whose date of composition is questionable. The main advantage of this analysis lies in the fact, that, being an autonomous and independent criterion, one may use it without subscribing to any particular theory prevailing in biblical Higher Criticism. Most of the complicated and unresolved problems of Higher Criticism — literary, historical and theological — simply have no bearing upon its procedures.

For more than a hundred years the Excerpts from Theodotus (especially 42–65) and Irenaeus' Treatise have served as primary sources of Valentinian eschatology. Since Dibelius' article appeared in 1908, discussion of Valentinian eschatology has followed his premise that these two sources contain essentially the same teaching, and may be derived from a common source. Dibelius makes this claim on the basis of observable parallels of terminology and structure between the two passages.

The middle decades of the thirteenth century saw a remarkable upsurge in Christian missionizing activity. While efforts to spread the regnant faith by eloquent persuasion had never been totally lacking in medieval Christendom, widespread interest in proselytizing and the creation of effective missionizing techniques are especially prominent during this period. Old and new ecclesiastical institutions channeled their energies towards evangelizing, and some of the most learned and original minds lent their talents.

In 1941 Charles Virolleaud published a small corpus of tablets commonly referred to as the Rephaim Texts because they apparently involve the Ugaritic forerunners of the Biblical rĕpāʽîm. The meaning of these texts is often obscure, but at least the following seems clear: the rp’m are invited to someone's house or palace; after three days' travel by chariot they arrive at the grnt/meṭʽt, usually translated “threshing floors/plantations,” though the exact significance of the expression is not really clear; finally, the rp’m spend seven days in eating and drinking. This much is a least common denominator shared by all interpretations. When we get to more specific details, however, we find disagreement among students of these texts. Most of the disagreements arise from the differing ways in which the identity of the rp'm is understood.

Migne, Patrologia Gracca 24, columns 529–605, prints a work of Eusebius which he entitles Eusebii Caesariensis Commentarii in Lucae Evangelium quantum superest in Codicibus Vaticanis, the text of which is that of Angelo Mai, Bibliotheca Nova Patrum iv. 159ff., published in 1847. The work is abstracted from the big Lucan catena of Nicetas of Heraclea, other parts of which were published separately by Mai. No mention of a Commentary on Luke is made by later patristic writers such as Jerome and Photius in their notices of work by Eusebius, and J. Quasten, Patrology iii, does not include it in his description of Eusebius' work. Mai, however, is confident, I believe rightly, that it is a genuine work of Eusebius.

This essay addresses the problem of the relation between membership and moral responsibility in the interpretation of the doctrines of original sin and atonement by Jonathan Edwards. Focusing on his image of a tree and its branches to typify the solidarity of men as sinners (“in Adam”) and as saints (“in Christ”), I will argue that Edwards defines the “nature” of man in organic and historical terms which modify significantly both the biological images of infection and regeneration in the Augustinian-Calvinist tradition and the juridical terms of federal headship in Puritan covenant theology. Edwards defines “membership” in the race of Adam, as well as in the body of Christ, as a form of participation in a history which is decisively shaped by the disposition of its organizing figure. Yet, in formulating the doctrines of original sin and atonement, Edwards is careful to maintain the balance between disposition as a generic characteristic and action as an individual responsibility. Edwards' theory of solidarity, informed by a sense of history as the medium of ethical relationship, is an instructive attempt to clarify the relation between curse and disobedience, as well as that between grace and faithfulness.

Considerable attention has recently been given to the subject of radical ideas in English religion, especially in the period of the Civil War, as Christopher Hill's The World Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas During the English Revolution perhaps best illustrates. Nonetheless, much of the story of English radical religion—its sources, milieu, and impact—remains obscure, especially in the Elizabethan period, and the modern investigator is scarcely satisfied with the comment of the seventeenth-century heresiographer, Daniel Featley, who argued, in explaining the rise of heresy, that “it is moste certaine, that where there is a propension in any mans minde to any olde heresie, the malice of the Devil easily supplyeth the want of reading.” Did the radical religious ideas of the Civil War period spring up suddenly out of the tensions of Puritanism or had such ideas long flourished on the margins of the Puritan movement? To what extent were such ideas indebted to continental influences such as the Anabaptists? If indigenous, to what aspect of English religion should one turn for the context and basis of such developments?

In the world of English Christian poetry the co-ordinates by which we usually map our position are Dante and Milton. Any serious, inclusive religious poem, that is, one in which the Christian matter is presented in devotional mode with prophetic intent, will, ultimately, exhibit a more significant inherent relationship either to the Divine Comedy or to Paradise Lost. T. S. Eliot, clearly, was Dantesque, and though the story of his ambivalent Miltonism is no longer even a smouldering issue, it still speaks cogently to the point of his anti-Miltonic sensibility. Auden, however, was atypical in that though he talked much about Dante, when it came down to cases he wrote more like Milton. And in For the Time Being he faced a problem very similar to the one Milton faced in Paradise Lost. What Puritanism was to Paradise Lost, Existentialism was to For the Time Being, enormously complicating the devotionalism, but simultaneously dramatizing and humanizing it.

Two recent publications that appeared during the Coleridge bi-centennial prompt this bibliographical survey of Coleridge's reputation as a religious thinker. Neither Norman Fruman's Coleridge, The Damaged Archangel nor René Wellek's contribution to the latest edition of The English Romantic Poets gives an adequate picture of Coleridge's ideas on religion and the profound effect they had on the English-speaking theological tradition. More concerned with debunking Coleridge's originality, both writers appear generally indifferent and unsympathetic to the large body of Coleridge's later writings that constitute by far the greater part of his canon and are the source of his wide influence on succeeding generations.

As Matthew concludes his Gospel, he records that the resurrected Christ met with the eleven disciples on the mountain which He had appointed. There the Lord spoke to them, saying, “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.” In our time, these words are synonymous with the missionary movement of the Protestant Church. Yet among the first generations of Protestants there were few voices raised on behalf of missions, and more than seventy years passed before the first Reformed exegete declared that Christ's injunction “remains in full force, and perfectly binding on the Church, so long as there shall be nations ignorant of the Lord.” And nearly two more decades were to pass before a small group of Reformed pietists gave form to the earliest, continuing Protestant missionary endeavor.