In contemporary Scottish culture the subject of predestination is guaranteed to evoke a variety of reactions ranging from horror and disgust on the one hand to laughter and ridicule on the other. It is viewed by some as a nightmare scenario devised by Christian theologians in their worst moments, while for odiers it is a ludicrous aberration of the medieval and Reformation mind. It is perceived frequently as the trademark of a theological mindset which is marked by harshness, legalism and a fatalistic attitude towards life. A clear example of this is Edwin Muir's biography of Knox which writes vitriolically of the oppression and tyranny of the predestinarian religion that was imported from Calvin's Geneva.

A few years ago a leading Scottish theologian drew attention to the recent tendency among continental Protestant theologians to ‘write off: natural theology. This, he suggested, had been accepted with undue complacency by certain Scottish writers, and he rightly drew attention to the fact that there was a great, indeed a predominant, tradition in the Christian Church, which accepted natural theology, and that among Scottish theologians, no less a man than Thomas Chalmers would have been shocked at the suggestion that natural theology was invalid.

Recent scholarship has done much to uncover a continuous tradition of distinctively Reformed natural law reflection, according to which knowledge of the natural moral law, though not saving knowledge, is universally available to humanity in its fallen state and makes a stable secular order possible. A close look at Calvin's understanding of natural law, and in particular of conscience and natural human instincts, shows that Calvin himself did not expect the natural law to serve as a source of substantive action-guiding moral norms. First, Calvin held that conscience delivers information concerning the moral quality even of individual actions. But he also thought that we often blind ourselves to the deliverances of conscience. Second, he argued that our natural instincts predispose us to civic order and fair dealing insofar as these are necessary for the natural well-being or advantage of creatures such as ourselves. But he also carefully distinguished the good of advantage from the good of justice or virtue. The modern natural lawyers eroded Calvin's careful distinction between conscience as revealing our duty as duty, and instinct as guiding us towards natural advantage. They also turned away from Calvin's insistence on the moral incapacity of unredeemed humanity. The modern natural lawyers saw their task as one of developing an empirical science of human nature to guide legislation and shape international law, bracketing questions of whether this nature was fallen and in need of redemption. When Scottish Presbyterian Reformed thinkers, such as Gershom Carmichael and John Witherspoon, tried in diverse ways to restore eroded Reformed commitments to the science of human nature, about which they were otherwise so enthusiastic, they were not particularly successful. A science which could derive moral norms from an examination of human instincts, and a conscience which could deliver universal moral knowledge, proved too attractive to decline simply because of the transcendence of God or the fallenness of humankind. Those who wished to preserve an account of natural law which remained faithful to a fully robust set of Reformed theological commitments could do so only by refusing to regard the natural law as a positive source of moral knowledge.

There was once a man who, upon asking about Presbyterianism, was handed the Westminster Shorter Catechism. Having read it, he replied: ‘This is all very well; I now understand the official beliefs of Presbyterians. But I am after not just beliefs, but the reality of everyday life: what is it like to be a Presbyterian? How does one distinctively feel about himself and the world, and to what practical consequences does this lead?’

I have found myself very much drawn to the epistemological realism which T.F. Torrance puts forward in his 1985 book, Reality and Scientific Theology. Torrance's claim, that true knowledge represents a genuine disclosure to the mind of that which is objectively real, seems to me an indispensable presupposition for the church's proclamation of the Gospel. If the knowledge, ‘That I belong, body and soul, in life and in death, not to myself but to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ’, is to be capable of offering concrete assurance about the eternal destiny of ordinary believers, such knowledge must of necessity be grounded in a reality (Jesus Christ) which transcends the particularities of the believer's own body, soul, and historical circumstances. A realism like Torrance's would seem to be essential if the church's witness is to be taken seriously.

The act of God in bringing salvation to the human race and summoning individuals into a community to serve him is due solely to the mercy and grace of God, mediated and manifested through Jesus Christ in his ministry, atoning death and rising again.1 This statement of belief, taken from the recently published ARCIC II document Salvation and the Church, is one to which Christians of most denominations could probably subscribe. Yet the very existence of the document is testimony to the fact that within the Christian Church there have been widely differing interpretations of the precise nature of salvation and its implications for humankind. At the time of the Reformation disagreement as to the theological import of terms such as ‘grace’, ‘justification’ and ‘sanctification’ was a major cause of division between Rome and the Protestant churches. Were they primarily to be given an objective or subjective, an extrinsic or intrinsic reference in relation to the believer? ARCIC II demonstrates that these are still live issues at the interface of ecumenical dialogue today, and must be resolved if real moves are to be made in the direction of Christian unity.

In a recent article, Carl Mosser argues that deification is present in the theology of John Calvin. While his thesis may have ecumenical promise, there is little evidence to support it. Rather than understanding salvation as a communication of properties from Christ's divine nature to his human nature so that through Christ's human nature we may come to share in the divine nature, Calvin's position is that believers share in what is Christ's according to his human nature. The righteousness of Christ with which we are clothed is the righteousness of his human obedience as Mediator. Far from emphasizing a communication of properties from Christ's divinity to his humanity, Calvin's concern is to guard the full integrity of both natures.

One Tuesday afternoon in June of 1936, the newly installed Norris-Hulse Professor of Divinity at Cambridge set out to deliver his inaugural lecture (Dodd 1936). As he stepped up to the podium, his subject stretched out before him in a wide open vista, clear and uncluttered, inviting him to enter into the inheritance of a century or more of successful scientific investigation. The man was C.H. Dodd; his title, ‘The Present Task in New Testament Studies’.

An understanding of the nature of theology of education, as of any other field of applied or practical theology, will spring from some previous understanding of the nature and functions of theology itself. But here the theorist in the interdisciplinary field is in something of a dilemma. If he fails to make it clear that theology of education rests upon an interpretation of the nature of theology, his treatment will tend to be superficial. He will be exploring the theological implications of education, but he will not have shown himself aware of the implications for theology of the methods he uses in his exploration. Since his aim is to elucidate implications for theology, he must turn his scrutiny inwards towards himself as theologian, as well as outwards towards education. On the other hand, in setting forth the understanding of theology which informs his work in applied theology, he makes his work more controversial, since there will be other understandings of theology, and other understandings of applied theology will flow from these to relativise his own methodology. Or it may be thought that the interdisciplinary field necessarily rests upon this and only this understanding of theology, and then those whose understanding of theology differs will conclude that the whole interdisciplinary enterprise is misconceived. A relatively under-developed interdisciplinary field such as theology of education is particularly susceptible to this misunderstanding.

Blaise Pascal once said, ‘Knowing Jesus Christ strikes the balance [for theology] because he shows us both God and our wretchedness’. Indeed, the majesty of Christ is that in him the despair of wretchedness and the hope of God are held together. Theology often does not reflect this balance, leading towards either anthropocentrism or nihilism. The ubuntu theology of Desmond Tutu does, however, by proclaiming the inherent interconnectedness of humankind. Tested by the context of South African apartheid, this notion called ‘ubuntu’ counters segregation and violence with reconciliation and justice. It refuses to execute retribution upon transgressors, instead committing itself to re-membering the disinherited of Christ's inclusive body. Forgiveness is the only future for this body and, though it remains an aporia in the context of radical evils such as apartheid, it is the only way to achieve justice without economising balance. That is, only forgiveness can realise ubuntu because it progresses forward toward justice not backward toward vengeance. Ubuntu is the prophetic balance of a divine gift that transforms the wretchedness of human atrocities. It represents Tutu's attempt to realise the way of God in his context, an attempt from which all theologising can benefit.

Bulgakov's comprehensive kenotic theory is a largely neglected aspect of his theology. The article situates Bulgakov's kenoticism in the context of nineteenth–twentieth century European and Russian theology. For Bulgakov kenosis was a feature not only of the divine incarnation, but also of creation and of the inner life of the Trinity. Bulgakov distinguishes between different aspects of the divine kenosis: the suffering of compassionate and sacrificial love; the restraint of omnipotence, omniscience and other perfections; the descent into the world of temporality and becoming; the acceptance of human emotions and suffering; the identification with sinful humanity; and ultimately the experience of Godforsakenness in the incarnation. God freely limits his actions in the world by time and space. According to Bulgakov, God always acts by persuasion and never by compulsion. Incarnation for Bulgakov is a kenotic act par excellence. Critically appropriating the ideas of Thomasius and Hegel, Bulgakov argues that in the incarnation the Word retains his divine nature, but divests himself of his glory. This entails that the Son empties himself of his foreknowledge, and becomes temporarily subordinate to the Father and the Holy Spirit. The Son's kenosis is matched by that of the Holy Spirit, who restricts his power in communicating his gifts to the world.

Two general tendencies can be detected in theological enquiries on nature, ecology and the environment. The first tendency stresses the inadequacy of ‘traditional’ or mainstream Christianity to engage with the crisis in human relations with non-human nature. The positions under this tendency draw on other resources—process thought, the writings of Teilhard de Chardin, the ‘common creation story’ of the natural sciences—to construct anew the Christian contribution to the healing of our relations with damaged nature. For this tendency, standard Christian responses such as reinterpretations of dominion as stewardship presuppose the distinction of humanity from non-human nature. Such unrevised constructs thereby remain part of the problem rather than part of the resolution.

The work of the form-critics on the Gospel has directed our A attention more than ever before to the historical development of the material of the tradition, which took place before the fixing of our Gospels in writing. Collections of single or several words of Jesus, and narratives about Jesus, were establishing themselves already in the early Church, and were passed on by it. How far this tradition was already in part written down, or, as with the oldest Jewish traditions, was only orally transmitted, is not a question of importance for us here, but in any case it could never be solved with certainty. That is also true, as M. Dibelius has rightly stressed, of the much quoted “Q source”. It is indeed very probable that already before the composition of our Gospels, there were smaller writings, above all collections of words of Jesus, but it is in no way possible to define or demarcate them more exactly. On principle, this whole stream of tradition, whether it is transmitted in written or oral fashion, in so far as it is not yet channelled in our Gospels, can and must be handled as a unit. When in the title we speak of an “oral” tradition concerning Jesus, we mean simply the tradition concerning Jesus which existed before the Gospels. Similarly, in the Jewish tradition of the Old Testament law, the interpretations of the law were at first orally handed down from Rabbi to pupil, and then later written, but neither the fact of this taking place, nor the time when it took place, are of any fundamental importance for this Jewish tradition.

That the early church was intensely and passionately evangelistic is clear to every reader of the documents that make up the New Testament. Equally clear, or so it would seem, is the scholarly consensus that when Christian evangelists took the step of reaching beyond the borders of the Jewish people, they did so without requiring observance of the Jewish law. The work of these evangelists, in turn, is said to have sparked a reaction on the part of firmly observant Jewish Christians, who, seeing the growth of the Gentile mission, sought to require observance of the Law by its converts. Struggles ensued, and the outcome, to put the matter briefly, was victory for the mission to the Gentiles, for the Law-free theology characteristic of that mission, and for the churches produced by it.

When the Archbishop of Canterbury writes:

it is insufficient to pick things from the teaching of Jesus and the New Testament interpretation of his morality, without a thorough examination of the whole evidence about the morality of Jesus. We need to see the place which law had in the mission of Jesus; the way in which he did not abolish the law but fulfil it; the meaning of fulfilment, the interpretation of it in St. Paul and others; the nature of the gifts of the Holy Spirit; the significance of divine institutions within the natural order, such as marriage, the family, the state.

Christians frequently request God's forgiveness and have their Lord's assurance that if they refuse to forgive they will not be forgiven (Matt. 6:15). Forgiveness is thus integral to Christian moral existence even if life presents few opportunities to forgive those who have genuinely wronged us. This infrequency of opportunity is neither regrettable nor surprising. Sane persons after all do not wish to be routinely wronged so as to be able to forgive regularly. But perhaps the infrequency with which we forgive others helps to explain why we are mystified by the nature of forgiveness.

Samuel Rutherford (1600–61) has long been assumed to be an advocate of a harsh supralapsarian predestinarianism. Such an assumption, however, cannot be substantiated by the claims that he makes in his writings. New evidence from his writings suggests that while Rutherford was supralapsarian, he expressed his supralapsarianism only in the most moderate of terms. In fact, he consistently employed infralapsarian language to express his thinking in regard to predestination. This essay will seek to demonstrate this in Rutherford and then to explore whether such an expression of supralapsarian predestinarianism can help us in determining the lapsarian position of the Westminster Confession of Faith. While some scholars have claimed that the Confession is an infralapsarian document, this essay will show that, by using Rutherford's supralapsarianism as a hermeneutic, it is perhaps better understood as a supralapsarian document that is phrased in such a way so as to facilitate consensus on the lapsarian issue.

The relation of science to secularisation is discussed in relation to the sociological frameworks of rationalisation and social differentiation in the context of cross-national and cross-cultural comparison. It is argued that there is no consistent relation between the degree of scientific advance and a reduced profile of religious influence, belief and practice. The crucial factors are sociological and historical, in particular the relation of religion to power and to the role of the intelligentsia in promoting radical social change. It is also argued that mental space constitutes a manifold so that there is in principle no zero-sum relation between science and religion. That there is such a relation derives from the Enlightenment master narrative and it acquires much of its emotional power not from the logical consequences for religion of science as from a putative relation between religion and moral evil and the legitimation of oppressive regimes. However there are indirect consequences of science for religion through the social consequences of technological change. In practice the consequences of historical studies, for example biblical criticism, are probably greater than the consequences of science.

Whether or not one may wish to call it a renaissance in the doctrine of the Trinity, there has been a notable resurgence of interest in trinitarian thinking in recent theology. Some of the most suggestive contributions have been made by two theologians whose works are generally regarded as ‘eschatologically’ oriented. In a volume recently published in English as The Trinity and the Kingdom of God, Jürgen Moltmann attempts to develop a comprehensive doctrine of the trinitarian being of God taking up and expanding themes already set forth in such earlier works as The Crucified God, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, and several journal articles dealing with the ‘trinitarian history of God’. Throughout these works Moltmann was concerned to demonstrate the openness of the being of God for man and history and toward the future. The trinitarian differentiation and unity of God, he argued in various ways, is to be closely identified with the events of salvation history, especially the cross of Jesus. In his most recent book, he attempts to systematise this approach to the doctrine of God through a ‘salvation historical’ and ‘social’ doctrine of the Trinity. This work represents a major contribution to trinitarian thought and is both complex and wide-ranging in its treatment of the subject. It will be our concern here simply to investigate some of the major themes related to the problem of God's relationship to history, that is, God's ‘historicality’.