The suggestion has often been made recently that the relationship between Judaism and Christianity can be adequately described in terms of a “schism.” This suggestion is worthy of serious consideration. It has much to commend it. It promises new possibilities (badly needed in view of past history), because “schism” can be healed. But its mere attractiveness and beneficial potential should not blind us to the problems involved. Because the term “schism” presupposes an underlying unity, its use to describe the relation between the two faiths preserves an emphasis which, in our given situation, where the dependence of the Church on the Synagogue is not sufficiently recognized, is too easily lost. And yet, without very careful definition, the term “schism” may be misleading. Who are to be called schismatics? Is it Christians for leaving Judaism or Jews for rejecting the Christian Messiah and his people? As will become apparent in the following pages, there are two extreme positions to be avoided. On the one hand, that which regards the relationship between Judaism and Christianity at the present time as so close that that relationship is merely schismatic, and, on the other hand, that which regards that relationship as one of unrelieved antithesis.

The Judeo-Christian dialogue — be it conducted in the fashion of ordinary human contact or within the discipline of strict scholarly procedure — suffers often from a disturbing pattern: the two partners not only emphasize the elements and features common to both of them, but find themselves confronted in polarity. This emphasis of polarity may prove convenient for the colloquists. Each can assume a polite vantage ground overlooking the position of the opposite religion, yet feel quite content in the assured knowledge of one's own religion because it now bears none of the qualities which distinguish the polar opposite.

The Resurrection of Christ: Traditional Questions

The “Resurrection of Christ” is controversial. It does not fit into the modern world of things calculable and manipulable. Is it a historical event among other historical events that took place or that are still taking place? Is it a symbol of the language of times past?

Johann Georg Hamann, that great critic of the Enlightenment, once satirized the contemporary philosophical effort of his time by writing certain memoirs of Socrates “fuer die lange Weile des Publicums zusammengetragen von einem Liebhaber der langen Weile.” No doubt another article on Anselm also runs the risk of contributing to ennui. Still, in the history of philosophy his work is virtually unrivaled as a source for philosophical puzzlement. Nearly every anthology which introduces philosophy includes a section of his Proslogion, and recent analysis continues to demand attention to “the ontological argument” which is attributed to him. The present offering is, perhaps presumptuously, one more attempt to untangle some of the puzzlement and to do away with some of the misunderstanding that has accrued to the Anselmic tradition.

The concept, “act of God,” is central to the biblical understanding of God and his relation to the world. Repeatedly we are told of the great works performed by God in behalf of his people and in execution of his own purposes in history. From the “song of Moses,” which celebrates the “glorious deeds” (Ex. 15:11) through which Yahweh secured the release of the Israelites from bondage in Egypt, to the letters of Paul, which proclaim God's great act delivering us “from the dominion of darkness” (Col. 1:13) and reconciling us with himself, we are confronted with a “God who acts.” The “mighty acts” (Ps. 145:4), the “wondrous deeds” (Ps. 40:5), the “wonderful works” (Ps. 107:21) of God are the fundamental subject-matter of biblical history, and the object of biblical faith is clearly the One who has acted repeatedly and with power in the past and may be expected to do so in the future.

To deal with the problem of the “historical” Jesus is to deal with the synoptic Gospels (with occasional appropriations of Johan-nine material).

To use the apocryphal Gospels does not seem to be advisable, since their inclusion is beset with a number of notorious difficulties. First of all, any attempt to recover historical material from the vast sea of noncanonical tradition has proved to be an arduous labor yielding only negligible results.

The evaluation of Tillich's theological system in America and Great Britain (incipient in Germany but almost nonexistent in France) inevitably takes a stand on two questions. It asks whether Tillich is a theologian or a philosopher, and it asks whether he is an existentialist, an idealist, or, perhaps, both. The second question has almost as many opinions as answers. Is Tillich solely or basically a product of the German nineteenth century? Is he an existentialist despite his system, or an idealist despite his demand for existential theology? Or is Tillich merely an existentialist in his general terminology, while the horizon and form of his thought (because of ontology and system) is of the nineteenth century?

Dr. Williams' Library in London has a copy of Bishop John Wilkins's Ecclesiastes, interleaved with pages on which the divine and hymn-writer Isaac Watts made hundreds of notes — concerning the books he studied at Thomas Rowe's Dissenting academy in London, the comments of leading figures in London's nonconformist circles, and his own maturing opinions and judgments. Dates on various notes range from 1690 to 1709. The document should be of interest to all students of English religious nonconformity in the seventeenth century; it is in effect a manuscript record of an education for the Dissenting ministry, written by one of the foremost ministers of the age, which further reveals the influence of that education on his thinking and his pastoral activities in the most active years of his public leadership. Through a combination of circumstances, Watts' copy of Wilkins has remained obscure, unidentified and virtually untouched in the Dr. Williams archives for well over a century. Now that it has come to light again,2 and has been identified as Watts's,3 perhaps it can gain the attention it merits

IT is customary to divide the second chapter of the Epistle of James into two sections, verses 1–13 and 14–26. The question whether these two sections have any connection with each other was answered negatively by Martin Dibelius. Dibelius argued his case, first of all, by denying that the parable in 2: 15, 16 — with its contrast between speaking and doing (cf. 2: 12) — represents the point of 2: 14–26. Along with other commentators, Dibelius understood this section to treat faith and works and the connection between the two in the light of the Pauline theological treatment of them. Thus, e.g., he argued that the author of James employed the Abraham example in the manner of Jewish tradition, but whereas in the Jewish tradition the faith of Abraham is itself a “work,” it is not so in James: Dibelius found his solution by assuming that this discussion presupposes Paul's treatment of πίστιϛ and ἔργα. But ἔργα for Paul means “works of the law” (e.g., circumcision), which is not the meaning for James. Therefore, James must presuppose a misunderstood Paulinism. When James 2: 14–26 is approached in this way, the parable in 2: 15, 16 appears as only an example, somewhat incidental to the main thrust of the section. Thus, the connection of 2: 14–26 with the foregoing verses cannot be affirmed, even though it appears that the parable in 2: 15, 16 is similar to 2: 12, 13.