In 1929, after many years of consultation and compromise, the two largest Presbyterian denominations in Scotland — the established Church of Scotland and the voluntary United Free Church — were united. The Union was an impressive achievement, marking the end of the bitter divisions of eighteenth and nineteenth century Scottish Presbyterianism. In particular, it represented the healing of the wounds of the Disruption of 1843, when the national Church of Scotland had been broken up as a result of conflicts between Church and State over patronage and the Church's spiritual independence. With the Union of 1929, the leaders of Scottish Presbyterianism, and especially John White of Glasgow's Barony Church, succeeded not only in uniting the major Presbyterian Churches, but also in establishing a cooperative relationship between Church and State. The Church of Scotland, itseemed, was again in a position to assert national leadership.

In 1932 R. Grosche, editor of the newly founded magazine Catholica, attributed to Karl Barth the chief honour of ‘having made the Catholic-Protestant controversy again possible in the form of theological discussion’. For the Catholic critics of Barth the full possibilities of this discussion were first realised in 1951 in a brilliant work by Urs von Balthasar, whose central thesis was rated by Barth himself as ‘incomparably more powerful than that of most of the books which have clustered around me’ (C.D. IV. 1, 768). Now, in his latest part-volume, Barth expresses his gratitude to three other Catholic authors of excellent books on his theology, one each in German, French, and Italian, all showing a ‘thorough familiarity with the text’, and even more important, ‘an earnest wish to comprehend and a real comprehension’ (K.D. IV.3.1, viii). Hans Küng's Rechtfertigung reconciling the Catholic doctrine of justification with Barth's own, and raising a storm of interconfessional debate, has since become virtually a part of the continental theological vocabulary. Henri Bouillard's three-volume 900-page analysis, surpassing even von Balthasar's research in objectivity and breadth, and stimulating sheer envy for its French-reading public, appears to be the introduction to Barth's theology for the foreseeable future. And Emmanuele Riverso worthily represents even Italy's traditionally conservative Catholicism with a lengthy critique ranking with most Protestant attempts to date. Among the multitude of questions which this whole remarkable phenomenon raises for the Protestant spectator, several are basic: how does catholicism see Barth's dogmatics, what does it say to what it sees, and why should it to a greater extent than Protestantism be so obviously interested in seeing anything at all there?

The reception of Jacques Derrida in the academic community has frequently been a source of controversy. Whilst America has often been hospitable to his thought, the situation in British and even French universities has occasionally been openly hostile. Derrida arouses an intensity of emotion illustrated by the two hundred and four academics at Cambridge University who attempted to block the award of an honorary degree in 1992. Like the reaction within other disciplines, the theological response was, and remains, fissured. Leading the critics, Brian Hebblethwaite lent vocal support to Derrida's detractors. Nevertheless, Hebblethwaite's published criticisms of Derrida at the time lack either theological or philosophical arguments. Instead, his assessment reveals a knowledge of Derrida gleaned almost exclusively from secondary sources, with the exception of a lone reference to Derrida's debate with John Searle in Limited Inc.

One of the fascinating features of theology in our day is the revival of interest in Schleiermacher in the same century which has witnessed the most radical questioning of both his method and point of view.

Despite the excessive claims sometimes made for the unity and consistency of Calvin's thought, there is no evidence to suggest that he ever varied his views on the distinctive marks of the church. From the first edition of the Institute to the last, the formula remains unchanged: ‘Wherever we see the Word of God purely preached and heard, and the sacraments administered according to Christ's institution, there, it is not to be doubted, a church of God exists.’ It has long been recognized that the notion of the two marks of the church is not original to Calvin, but derives from the Augsburg Confession of 1530, in which the faithful teaching of the gospel and the proper administration of the sacraments are said to designate the assembly of all believers (art. 7). Like Luther and Melanchthon, but unlike the framers of the Scots and Belgic Confessions, the French Reformer does not make discipline an explicit mark of the church. Nevertheless, so central an element is it in his ecclesiology that it is always found in the closest relationship with Word and sacraments. The Word is not only to be preached but ‘reverently heard’; it is a ‘royal sceptre’ to which all hearts and minds are to be brought in willing submission. Similarly the sacraments are, through the Spirit, manifest signs of God's work within us, ‘softening the stubbornness of our heart, and composing it to that obedience which it owes the Word of the Lord’.

The purpose of this study is firstly to examine the principles behind Calvin's exegesis of the messianic elements in the Psalms, and then to consider briefly how far in the light of recent studies in Israelite sacral kingship we can apply them to our own understanding today. At the outset, however, it is necessary to defend the adjective ‘messianic’ in regard to Calvin's exegesis of the Psalms. It has been objected, particularly by Mowinckel at the beginning of his He that Cometh, that the term ‘Messiah’ can only rightly be used for a royal eschatological figure in the literature of later Judaism. As, according to Mowinckel, the royal figure in the Psalms is in no strict sense an eschatological one, the adjective ‘messianic’ cannot be strictly applied to it. It is not our intention here to combat this judgment of Mowinckel on exegetical grounds, but to point out that his criticism is not valid for what Calvin was seeking to do in his commentary.

The parable of the Tares is introduced by Matthew into the third of the major discourses he attributes to Jesus, a discourse for which he relies heavily on both Mark 4 and Q (Matt. 13.16f = Luke 10.23f; Matt. 13.31f 33 = Luke 13.18f, 20f). While lacking any full parallel in either of these sources, the parable does recall in varying ways several other synoptic traditions, (i) The Markan parable of the Seed growing Secretly/Patient Husbandman (Mark 4.26–29) occupied in the Markan sequence the position now occupied in the Matthaean scheme by the parable of the Tares. Moreover, the occurrence of verbal reminiscences of the former in the latter has not infrequently impressed interpreters: anthrōpos, katheudein, sītos, blastanein, chortos, karpos, therismos, prōton. While some of these might be attributable to correspondences natural in the coverage of similar subject-matter, not all of them are necessary to such coverage (e.g. katheudein), not all of them are common words (e.g. blastanein), and the aggregate of all of them cannot easily be written off as coincidence, (ii) The parable of the Sower, with its appended interpretation (Mark 4.3–8, 14–20 = Matt. 13.3–8, 18–23), provides a precedent within this discourse for an explanation based on a series of 1:1 allegorical correspondences (see particularly, in the case of the Tares, vv. 37–39, which provide the basis for a summarising explanation in vv. 40–43: hōsper…).

Various critics of the New Perspective on Paul (NPP) often highlight the lack of church tradition as one deficiency of the various interpretations of Paul. To some, the lack of church history automatically renders such newer interpretations suspect. In turn critics of the NPP often turn to the reformers such as Calvin and Luther to defend the traditional reading of Paul and trace this traditional reading back to Augustine. For the critics, church tradition stands on the side of the traditional reading.

This article seeks to highlight an often neglected early church view on one aspect of the NPP, that of Paul and the Law. This article highlights one of the fiercest exchanges between two church fathers. Through a series of letters, Jerome and Augustine corresponded on Jerome's interpretation of Galatians 2 and the Antioch incident. For Augustine the pastor, nothing less than the veracity of scripture was at stake and Augustine mounts a defence of Paul's actions in Galatians 2 in response to Jerome's insistence of an agreed-upon lie between Peter and Paul. In the process of Augustine's rebuttal of Jerome, he notes that Paul followed the law without ‘pretence’ and that there was a period in early Christianity where Jewish Christians practised law observance. Augustine highlights the divine origin of the Mosaic law, which renders a positive role for the law in early Christianity, and notes that the negative critique of the law comes within the context of a Gentile audience, but did not have implications for Jewish Christians. Augustine rightly notices and raises the important context of Paul's negative statements on the law and offers a nuanced discussion of Paul's treatment of the law.

Augustine notes some of the important conclusions drawn by the NPP, namely a positive view of the law and its practice by Paul and other Jewish Christians. He also notes the various ways the law functions in Jewish and Gentile contexts. Such a positive view of Paul and the law may appear striking to many, but must be considered by those who are otherwise critical of the NPP. This article shows that there was at least one voice, among others, within the early church which advocated for a positive reading of Paul and the law. The history of interpretation of Galatians 2 offers many insights for contemporary Pauline scholars which ought to be heeded in future discussions. This article, by highlighting the exchange between Jerome and Augustine, seeks to give the NPP a historical ‘rootedness’ and placement within the history of interpretation.

Contrary to periodic challenges from a viewpoint of historical scepticism or relativism, Jerome's late fourth-century description of Simon Peter may be said to represent a critical and consensual account of the Apostle's demise in Rome as this was reflected in early Christian memory of the first two centuries, both in the East and in the West. Three centuries earlier, the much-debated passage in 1 Clement 5 represents (for all its ambiguities) an integral strand of such living memory – citing the founding apostles' death for their faith according to local Roman tradition while discreetly airbrushing the specific circumstances of their demise. It is significant, finally, that local memory of Peter's martyrdom remained confined to Rome and was never subject to competing claims elsewhere.

This article is, in part, an effort to come to terms with the ubiquitous celebration of embodiment in feminist discourse, and particularly within feminist theology. It will begin with a brief introduction to some of the key concepts in feminist theology and its use of the body, beginning with the body theologies of those who might now be called ‘second-wave’ theologians – Carter Heyward and Beverly Harrison. From here, I will consider postmodern feminist challenges to the reified and essentialised body as I examine what I call the subversive body in third-wave or postmodern feminism, both secular and theological. Finally, I shall move from these to an alternative construal of the importance of the body through the consideration of Christian bodily practices. Such an alternative will allow me to reflect upon what it is to become a specifically Christian body through church practices. I shall then endeavour to return to the critical concerns raised by feminism about the subjugation of women's bodies in the church as I consider the resources that might be available within the tradition itself for critical and emancipatory practices toward women and other strangers within the Body of Christ.

Widely recognised for his work in hermeneutics and theological method, the christological implications of David Tracy's thinking have been less explored. This article engages in a close reading of David Tracy's major work: critically correlating his theological epistemology with his christological statements; offering suggestions for the future development of christology. Theology, for Tracy, is the critical engagement of the Christian tradition in a specific culture. Theology, today, requires the responses of the early faith communities mediated by the church in scripture and tradition. Its corporate purpose of reform is achieved through personal encounter. The meeting of a particular, complex individual with the event of Jesus Christ brings forth change in the individual, and a new reading of the event. Christian theology is held together by its focus on Jesus Christ and its recognition of the scriptures as normative. Writing is, nonetheless, always ambiguous, thus multiple readings of scripture must be recognised and welcomed. Today's theology must be concretely embedded in history and the cosmos: for, too often, the victims of history have been silenced in Christian readings. There may be concreteness when there is recognition that facts may be actualised in individuals as well as in concepts. Theology's use of personal experiences may, therefore, be adequate for the tradition, and intelligible through coherence with general grounds for truth. Theology today, Tracy argues, must hold together all appropriate reflection on Jesus, known as Christ; just as the tradition has always allowed for multiple understandings such as Word-as-Logos and Word-as-Kergyma. In incarnation, cross and resurrection, in communal and personal encounter, reflection on Jesus empowers other-focused action through a spirit of hope. Future christologies, in this reading, must ultimately recognise that universality is a network of responses to the event of Jesus Christ. Particular encounters reflect the genuine multiplicity of today's interpretations of the tradition in specific cultures.

Paul's ‘view of the law’ is his reading of a text – the composite text comprising the five books from Genesis to Deuteronomy. His ‘theology of justification’ is a scriptural hermeneutic, antithetical in form and itself constructed from selected scriptural texts, which aims to show how the true meaning of scripture is its testimony to God's unconditional saving action, now realized in Christ. The dynamic of Pauline scriptural interpretation comes most clearly to light within the context of other contemporary readings of the same scriptural texts. Through their common concern with the interpretation of scripture, Pauline and non-Pauline writings constitute a single intertextual field, rather than indicating an immediate ‘parting of the ways’ between two monolithic entities labelled ‘Christianity’ and ‘Judaism’.

Jonathan Edwards's doctrine of imputation has long been misunderstood. This essay sets out to redress the balance on this aspect of Edwards's hamartiology, drawing on both nineteenth- and twentieth-century analyses of Edwards's theory. I argue that what previous commentators have failed to see is that Edwards's doctrine was not an aberrant version of either Augustinian realism or Calvinistic federalism. Instead, it was an attempt to forge a via media between the two, utilising the notion of a real union in Adam from Augustinianism and the representational aspect of federalism to form a new theory of imputation which, though indebted to the traditional alternatives, is independent of both.

This paper extends the scope of earlier studies of Karl Barth's relationship with Charlotte von Kirschbaum by exploring his marriage to Nelly Barth and the deterioration in their relationship in the 1920s. It traces the development and character of Barth's relationship with Kirschbaum, and the Notgemeinschaft (emergency community) they formed with Nelly. The paper makes use of Nelly Barth's unpublished letters to her family in which she accounts for her reluctance to divorce her husband in the early 1930s. The second half of the paper explores the impact of Barth's relationship with Kirschbaum on others and goes on to suggest ways in which this had consequences for his theology, particularly in his thinking in Church Dogmatics III/4 about the relation between man and woman.

Jorgen Moltmann has remarked that Reading the Bible with the eyes of the poor is a different thing from reading it with a full belly. If it is read in the light of the experience and hopes of the oppressed, the Bible's revolutionary themes — promise, exodus, resurrection and spirit — come alive.

These words go to the very heart of the matter of our concern in this essay — the hermeneutics of Liberation Theology. It is a subject of vital importance for the Church today. For Liberation Theology is developing creative and challenging insights, principles and procedures in the field of Biblical interpretation. There are several reasons for this.

There is a certain ‘Looking glass’ quality to the title of this study—by which I mean that Lewis Carroll's White Knight, whose analysis of the relationship between names and titles is the classic one, might well have insisted that this is only what it is called, whereas in fact it is about an interpretation (namely my own) of an interpretation (namely that of the writer of 2 Kings 20 and that of the writer of the parallel but not quite identical material of Isa. 38-39), which is there offered not apparently of the Babylonian Exile but of certain incidents of importance in the reign of king Hezekiah of Judah around the end of the eighth century b.c. The introduction of the Babylonian Exile into this is not my own, since it is already inherent in one moment in the two narratives; but the understanding of the section in terms of interpretation of the Exile is something which needs to be discussed. It is here that I believe we may see the distinctive character of the narratives in their present forms.

This essay seeks to explore speech-act theory in its relation to biblical interpretation. Its initial focus falls on the application of N. Wolterstorff whose book Divine Discourse provided the decisive catalyst for the recent debates. Building on the different kinds of action involved when speaking (locutionary, illocutionary and perlocutionary) Wolterstorff draws two important hermeneutical implications. First, the theory affords a way of understanding the unity of scripture in its entirety as God's book; second, it enables the reader to acknowledge the infallibility of God's Word as divine discourse without ascribing infallibility to the human words of scripture.

The second part attempts to offer a critical assessment of Wolterstorff's application of his theory, especially in its failure to deal adequately with the function of the Christian canon which shaped the church's traditions in such a way as to provide a rule-of-faith for the theological guidance of subsequent generations of readers. By abandoning the hermeneutical understanding of scripture developed by Irenaeus and Calvin, Wolterstorff flounders in his inability to overcome the threat of scripture's becoming a ‘wax nose’ in which the noematic content of what God now says in divine discourse is not identical with the meaning of the biblical sentence itself.

The final section examines the exegesis of the well-known scholar A. Thiselton, whose work has done much in developing a speech-act theory. The conclusion reached is that Thiselton's application of the theory is far different from that of Wolterstorff's and avoids many of the problems which plague Wolterstorff's exegesis. The implication of this analysis is to argue that speech-act theory cannot be indiscriminately lumped together, because various forms of the theory often reflect different hermeneutical theories of biblical interpretation.

The task of understanding the uniqueness of human being which underlies the obligations obtaining among men in distinction from all other creatures, is a perennial task of Christian theology. The one complete and final revelation of God in Jesus Christ has planted this task firmly and unalterably at the centre of theological reflection rather than at its periphery. In our generation the search for theological clarity on this matter receives heightened urgency from the pervasive assault on dignity of human being coming from recent developments in the modern sciences and technologies. This assault is conducted simultaneously in the theoretical and practical realms, armed by the increasing coalescence of the two realms in advanced scientific method.1 Today the most consequential knowledge of human life is produced by the most exact, intricate, and complex forms of manipulation and control. In the enthralling feats of biochemical technology the coming–into–being of individual human life is now the object of experimental making.2 Whetheror not our mastery of the reproductive process will ever lay bare the mystery of human generation, it certainly throws open to an unprecedented degree the question of what human being is, and by what its uniqueness is constituted.

The question of the relationship between Paul and Jesus has exercised scholars for the past century and a half, although J. Blank has argued that it is only since the beginning of this century that we can really speak of the scholarly treatment of the questions of ‘Paul and Jesus’ or ‘Jesus and Paul’.