A surprising omission in New Testament studies of the imperial world is a comparison of Augustus's conception of rule in the Res Gestae (RG) with Paul's eschatological gospel of grace in his letter to the Romans. Even though each document has been foundational in the history of Western civilization, a comparison of their vastly different social outcomes has not been undertaken. Neil Elliott has made an outstanding contribution in laying the foundations for such a study, offering a scintillating analysis of Paul's letter to the Romans in terms of iustitia (justice), clementia (mercy), pietas (piety), and virtus (valor), the four virtues of Augustus inscribed on the Golden Shield erected in the Julian senate house (RG 34.2). However, a full-scale investigation of the Augustan conception of rule in the RG would open up new perspectives on Paul's engagement with the imperial world in Romans, given that Augustus became the iconic exemplum of virtue for his Julio-Claudian successors. Nonetheless, the difference in genre and aims of each document makes such a comparison daunting for New Testament scholars, as does the controversy that each document continues to generate in its own discipline. Further, we are unsure about the extent of the exposure that Paul might have had to the RG, directly or indirectly. Possibly Paul saw a Greek version of the RG text at Pisidian Antioch, along with the Latin text that still survives there, during his first missionary journey (Acts 13:14–50), even though there are no archaeological remains of the Greek text at Antioch today. Presumably Paul would have been aware that the original Latin copy of the RG was inscribed in bronze at Augustus's mausoleum at Rome. This article will argue that Paul, in planning to move his missionary outreach from the Greek East to the Latin West (Rom 15:19a–24), thought strategically about how he was going to communicate the reign of the crucified, risen, and ascended Son of God to inhabitants of the capital who had lived through the “Golden Age” of grace under Augustus and who were experiencing its renewal under Nero. What social and theological vision did Paul want to communicate to the city of Rome in which Augustus was the yardstick of virtue to which future leaders of Rome should aspire?

G. W. F. Hegel's greatest contributions regarding religion and politics stem from his abiding concern with social cohesion. While Hegel was interested in now classic questions regarding the role of religion in government, the focal point of his engagement with religion and politics lay in his view of religion's role in binding together a complex society in which a more traditional social order had been fragmented by interrelated economic, social, political, and intellectual transformations. He was less concerned with the role of religious reasons and language in policy debates or elections than with politics in a broader sense—specifically, the way that religion enables the population as a whole to identify with the society's defining social and political institutions, including the family, the economic order, and other legal institutions. In this image, religion reconciles the population with the existing practices and institutions. Without significant degrees of such identification and reconciliation, even the best of laws will be insufficient to sustain a polity. Though reconciliation is one of Hegel's principal terms for this relationship, it in no sense implies “making do,” settling for, or simply accepting the status quo because it happens to exist. Rather, he is ultimately concerned with religion's ability—or inability—to enable us to find ourselves at home in a just and rational social order that promotes freedom.

In his Apology, Aristides paints a picture of Judaism that commentators have summarily praised as “surprising,” manifesting a “Jewish-friendly spirit,” “very favorable,” bearing “no trace of ill-feeling to the Jews,” “rather mild,” and lacking “every severity of tone, every anti-Jewish polemic.”1 In light of these positive notes, it seems rather shocking that scholarship on Aristides has traditionally devoted only cursory and insubstantial attention to his evaluation of the Jews, especially since it informs the study of early Jewish-Christian relations.2 Recently Judith Lieu and Denise Kimber Buell have attempted to remedy this gap.3 They have invigorated the study of Apology by approaching the text with a fresh set of questions and by posing solutions based on recent methodologies in literary and ethno-racial analysis. Their informed studies spotlight an “ethnic” discourse in Apology and the controlling influence it plays in Aristides’ construction of a Christian “race” distinguished from other ethnicities, including a Jewish “race.”

The History of Joseph the Carpenter (BHO 532–533; CANT 60; clavis coptica 0037) is readily accessible in many collections of New Testament Apocrypha. The text is fully preserved in Arabic and Bohairic, which was the regional dialect of Lower Egypt, and fragmentarily in Sahidic (i.e., the dialect of Upper Egypt). The present paper introduces P. Duk. inv. 239, a previously unidentified Sahidic fragment of this writing, which surfaced recently among the manuscripts in the Special Collections Library of Duke University. The new textual witness supplies us with a portion of the History of Joseph the Carpenter previously unattested in Sahidic. Moreover, the Duke fragment displays at least one interesting variant reading, unrecorded in the Bohairic and Arabic versions of the text.

In a letter to a colleague with whom he was having a serious philosophical disagreement, William James reflected on how wondrous it is that the universe is full of such rich diversity that it could nourish opinions as divergent as theirs. This is the kind of epistemological humility that T. M. Luhrmann hopes to stir in her readers, particularly those non-religious readers who occasionally find themselves in mid-conversation with an evangelical Christian neighbor who seamlessly shifts the topic from lawnmowers to “the exciting things that God is doing” in his life—and doing in his lawn, presumably. For among the evangelicals where Luhrmann conducts fieldwork, nothing in one's life is too mundane as to escape God's warm regard or to occasion “His” real presence. How God becomes really real to people—sensible people, people like us—is for Luhrmann, an anthropologist at Stanford, the burning question.