Over a decade ago, Hans Walter Wolff observed that there is a bracket around the Deuteronomic Corpus (Dtn) which includes parts of Deuteronomy 4 and Deuteronomy 28-30. The elements of the frame which he isolated and discussed in some detail are Deut 4:29-31 and Deut 30:1-10. He saw the former passage as a late addition to the Moses speech in Deut 4:25-28, regarding the change from plural to singular address as a decisive indication of authorial discontinuity. Several years later, Norbert Lohfink argued in detail for the unity of Deut 4:1-40 from a variety of viewpoints. The broadest in scope was that the passage in question follows the outlines of the covenant formulary in much the same way as do the succeeding chapters of Deuteronomy. For example, like Deuteronomy 5-11, Deut 4:1-24 offers an historical retrospect and a statement of the chief commandment, in this case, the prohibition on images. Deut 4:25-31 then constitutes the curses arid blessing, such as we shall see in Deuteronomy 27-28. Arguing in greater detail, Lohfink noted also a highly specific and integrated rhetorical structure which could hardly result from the linking of originally disparate pericopes. Thus, vv. 1-4 are a plea for attention, followed by a demand for observance of the laws (vv. 5-8), which narrows first into a discussion of the Decalogue in particular (vv. 9-14) and then of its central stipulation (vv. 15-22). As in the text of the Decalogue itself (Exod 20:5-6, Deut 5:9-10), this commandment is followed by a statement of YHWH's jealousy (vv. 23-24). Having laid the groundwork, the preacher begins to speak to the existential situation of his audience. The idolatry he has just stressed is the ground of the Exile (v. 25), which he then describes (vv. 26-28).

A comprehensive view of the Son of David in the New Testament requires facing the following problem: on the one hand, Davidic quotations, metaphors, and the descent theme are derived from the Old Testament royal tradition as it is channeled through Jewish texts; on the other, the title Son of David is found only in the synoptic gospels and is associated primarily with a figure who is so addressed by people in need of exorcism or healing. The usual solution to this problem in works on Christology is to say that a) miracle working is not associated with the Jewish royal Messiah in general or the Son of David in particular in contemporaneous Jewish literature, and b) it is early Christian tradition and/or redaction which has transformed the traditional royal conception and linked it with miracle working.

This stichometric list is almost altogether unknown to Western scholarship. Yet it is a rather accurate translation of a Greek stichometric list of the same character as the Stichometry of Nicephorus. The text has been published four times in Armenian, each edition based on a different manuscript or manuscripts. The edition of Ter Movsessian was based upon one manuscript—olim Etchmiadzin 154, a Bible dated 1308, and that of Fehratʿian upon two—Vienna No. 30 and No. 130. Murad based his edition upon four Jerusalem manuscripts, No. 773 (1359 C.E.), which served as his text, and Nos. 343 (1450 C.E.), 835 (1640 C.E.), and 936 (1703 C.E.), which he listed in his apparatus. The text was most recently edited by A. G. Abrahamyan. He did not consult Murad's edition, but based his own work upon two Erevan manuscripts, Nos. 2180 (1644 CE.) and 699 (16th century). He has listed all the variants of Ter Movsessian and of Fehratʿian in his apparatus.

Legal historians have given considerable attention to the question of intention in rabbinic law. Solomon Zeitlin, in the early years of the present century, published a number of articles touching on this matter, in which his chief purpose was to show that the legal significance of intention was one of the central points of contention between the two great Tannaitic schools, the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai. A little later, Michael Higger wrote a doctoral dissertation for Columbia University which he entitled Intention in Talmudic Law. Still more recently, Louis Finkelstein sought to push the dispute over intention back to the days of the Pharisees and Sadducees, attributing to the Sadducees the view that intention by itself has no legal consequence, and as usual explaining this view in terms of the Sadducees' social position.

In 1919, Cuthbert Butler, abbot of Downside abbey and one of the major figures in Roman Catholic intellectual life in England in the early years of this century, published an interpretation of Benedictine history which stressed the cenobitical spirit of the Benedictine Rule. Butler felt that Benedict avoided the excesses of physical asceticism and lonely competition found in earlier, more eremitical forms of monasticism and emphasized instead a life of obedience and stability within the monastic family. This interpretation has so dominated more recent scholarship on medieval monasticism that few students of the Benedictine Rule have noticed how little discussion of community it actually contains.

The suggestion that there was meaningful contact between Christian heretics and Jews during the middle ages is entirely plausible, quite significant, and generally unproved. That the existence of heresy had some impact upon the status of medieval Jews is, of course, beyond question. Inquisitorial proceedings aimed at heretics affected not only crypto-Jews (whether real or alleged) but members of the established Jewish community as well. Jews were accused of harboring heretics, encouraging them, and even of leading orthodox Christians into heresy. On several important occasions, procedures usually directed against heretical works were turned against the Talmud, the works of Maimonides, and certain sections of the Jewish liturgy. By the end of the middle ages, Jews were very well aware of the Church's lack of affection for heretics.

Most analysts acknowledge that guilt is a pervasive element in modern society. Possessed of a strong sense of impending doom through nuclear warfare, crises of ecology or overpopulation, modern man is haunted by an overriding sense of fear and guilt, wondering what quality in himself caused such an imminence of death. But surely this sense of guilt is not a creation of the modern world. Indeed guilt in the form of sin is even more comprehensible in earlier periods of history, where the culture was religiously oriented and where the wrath of a personal God could be visited upon a population in the form of plague or famine because of the sins of the people. Theories of guilt as applied to history, however, are much too sparse. One reason for this deficiency is that in order to use the psycho-historical technique, historians would be removed from the factual world and would be forced to probe the labyrinthine internal world that is illogical, devious and intangible. A few brave souls have explored the uncharted realms of the unconscious in the study of religion, both past and present. Yet, strangely enough, no one has ever focused upon guilt as an impetus in perhaps the most important aspect of religion—at least of Christian religion—the role of witness, better known as martyrdom.

In a letter written on his thirty-fifth birthday, November 21, 1803, Schleiermacher called the year just past the unhappiest of his life. This troubled year provides the background for three letters Schleiermacher wrote to the Würzburg theologian Heinrich Eberhard Gottlob Paulus in January, February, and May, 1804, which are published for the first time below. The first letter is Schleiermacher's reply to an invitation, transmitted by Paulus, for Schleiermacher to join the theological faculty of the University of Würzburg. The second relates to Schleiermacher's acceptance of this Bavarian appointment and to his plans to move there. The third explains the necessity Schleiermacher subsequently faced of breaking his Würzburg contract in order to obey King Friedrich Wilhelm III's command to remain in his Prussian fatherland.

Both Kant and Hegel focussed their attention on the problems of self-knowledge and self-scrutiny. Both elaborated a carefully considered view of conscience and sought to wrestle with the moral threat of self-deception. Both believed that a solution of the problems in this area was decisive for their understanding of the moral life and the task of ethics. In his analysis Hegel came to formulate what he considered to be decisive criticisms of Kant. The purpose of this paper is to examine the contrasting views of the two philosophers and provide a context in which the merits of each can be assessed.