It is well known that the seeds from which the modern discipline of OT theology grew are already found in 17th and 18th century discussion of the relationship between Bible and Church, which tended to drive a wedge between the two, regarding canon in historical rather than theological terms; stressing the difference between what is transient and particular in the Bible and what is universal and of abiding significance; and placing the task of deciding which is which upon the shoulders of the individual reader rather than upon the church. Free investigation of the Bible, unfettered by church tradition and theology, was to be the way ahead. OT theology finds its roots more particularly in the 18th century discussion of the nature of and the relationship between Biblical Theology and Dogmatic Theology, and in particular in Gabler's classic theoretical statement of their nature and relationship. The first book which may strictly be called an OT theology appeared in 1796: an historical discussion of the ideas to be found in the OT, with an emphasis on their probable origin and the stages through which Hebrew religious thought had passed, compared and contrasted with the beliefs of other ancient peoples, and evaluated from the point of view of rationalistic religion. Here we find the unreserved acceptance of Gabler's principle that OT theology must in the first instance be a descriptive and historical discipline, freed from dogmatic constraints and resistant to the premature merging of OT and NT — a principle which in the succeeding century was accepted by writers across the whole theological spectrum, including those of orthodox and conservative inclination.

Postmodernism and apophaticism do not seem perhaps the most obvious association, even in a discussion about the nature of language. Indeed, the former is a complex phenomenon of culture, very hard to define and to a large degree still unassessed, while the latter is a specifically theological current, spread over many centuries and with relatively little impact on societies. However, as an anti-modern reaction, postmodernism seems drawn to almost any human endeavour that does not conform to the canons of modernity, thus being open for dialogue and comparison with varied movements of ideas. It is, of course, debateable whether this non-conformity is the main criterion for the postmodern interests, or whether the anti-modern rhetoric is in fact a cover-up for a larger agenda.

In what follows I offer a dyptich on the assurance of salvation and its relation to good works in three Christian traditions, Reformed, Lutheran, and Catholic. The Orthodox Reformed (or the Reformed scholastics in the generations after Calvin) consider the assurance of salvation in terms of the practical syllogism: crudely put, my salvation depends on God's election, but I can tell whether I am among the elect by examining my good works. The Orthodox Lutherans (Lutheran scholastics in the generations after Luther) consider die assurance of salvation in terms of fides praevisa, or (crudely) faith that God foresees, in abstraction from the further question of whether or not God also causes it. Thomas Aquinas, comparable in method and influence, considers the sort of knowledge that observation of one's merits bestows: not certainty but conjecture.y

Art is part of the history of the church, and relates to spirituality and to the practical expression of Christian faith. It illustrates theological loci and biblical themes. Often, the art which fulfils this function does so with the conscious intent of the artist; sometimes not. Attempts have been made, however, to argue that art not only illustrates theology, but also contributes to it. Even so, systematic theologians and biblical scholars — when they do talk to each other — still converse on the basis of largely word-centred approaches to their tasks. I am neither systematic theologian nor biblical scholar, precisely because I attempt to keep a foot in both camps. I am even less of an art critic. Yet it is clear that in the world of art there is a whole area of exploration yet to be ventured into not only historically (have we really sufficiently explored how biblical interpretation and doctrinal theology have been influenced by art?) but also from the perspective of constructive theology (what contribution can art past and present make to the very reformulation and expansion of Christian doctrine?). This paper offers a brief reading of three paintings by Rembrandt, of the Emmaus Road story in Luke 24.13–35. The theological significance of the changing interpretations of the passage is drawn out and the implications of the use of the paintings, in terms of the creative use of the Bible in Christian theology.

Eberhard Jüngel is by turns one of the most stimulating and one of the most exasperating writers in modern theology. His style can be both diffuse and tightlypacked, both dryly technical and rhetorically impassioned, combining the scholarly rigours of a formidable intellect and the effusiveness of a highly popular lecturer and preacher. His translators routinely complain of the difficulties of rendering his involved German into lucid English, while it is rumoured that Jüngel celebrates on hearing of their problems. He shows very little interest in English-language theology, but remains firmly within the milieu of the German tradition. He inherits from Barth the conviction that theology deals with profound realities which require no apology and which can never bereduced to simplistic verbal schemata. From his Doktorvater, Ernst Fuchs, he has gained a hermeneutical perspective whose concern with issues of temporality and language goes back to the later Heidegger. This dual legacy lends obvious intellectual weight to Jungel's creative theology, but it also ensures that his work does not make for easy reading.

‘There is no historical task’, wrote Albert Schweitzer in 1906, ‘which so reveals a man's true self as the writing of a Life of Jesus.’ In his famous study of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century quest for the ‘historical Jesus’, Schweitzer exposed the tendency of each generation of scholars to find its own thoughts in the man from Nazareth. Since Schweitzer, scholars have become ever more skeptical about the possibility of ‘objective’ interpretation. Hans-Georg Gadamer, noting the predilection of readers to rewrite texts in their own language, concluded that ‘all understanding is self-understanding’. Quentin Skinner, taking a different tack, complained that history all too often becomes ‘a pack of tricks we play on the dead’. And Peter Novick, carrying the criticisma step further, observed that even if scholars recognize the specks in their opponents' eyes, they usually fail to see the logs in their own. In short, if modern hermeneutical studies since Schweitzer have conveyed one overriding message, it is that subjectivity is inescapable.

Karl Rahner and Thomas F. Torrance have made enormous contributions to 20th century theology. Torrance is quick to point out that Rahner's approach to Trinitarian theology which begins with God's saving revelation (the economic Trinity) and pivots ‘upon God's concrete and effective self-communication in the Incarnation’ does indeed have the effect that Rahner intended. First, it reunites the treatises On the One God and On the Triune God. This opens the door to rapprochement between systematic and biblical theology and binds the NT view of Jesus closer to the Church's worship and proclamation of the Triune God. Second, it opens the door to rapprochement between East and West by shifting from a more abstractive scholastic framework to one bound up with piety, worship and experience within the Church. Third, it opens the door to rapprochement between Roman Catholic theology and Evangelical theology ‘especially as represented by the teaching of Karl Barth in his emphasis upon the self-revelation and self-giving of God as the root of the doctrine of the Trinity …’

‘What is Woman that thou art mindful of her, or the Daughter of Woman that thou dost care for her?’ The question posed by this revision of Psalm 8:4 has troubled feminist theological scholarship in myriad ways over the last thirty years. To be sure, even within non-theological feminist scholarship, the question of what defines ‘womanhood’, how woman is biologically, socio-culturally, emotionally and spiritually constituted, has been explicitly addressed and hotly debated. In theological feminist scholarship, the question has often remained underground and implicit but nevertheless central. In regard to this question's specific relation to the doctrine of sin, the debate has had a complex history in feminist theological scholarship. It will be argued, after the history of the debate has been sketched, that the terms of the debate have been limited from the outset by a reaction to one stream of Protestant thought. The debate itself is therefore theologically thin, and in need of further fleshing out. It will be the thesis of this essay that the theological inadequacies of the feminist debate over the nature of women's sin in effect undercut the intentions of feminist scholarship to heal the wounds inflicted by sexism, and that a hamartiology such as that found in Karl Barth's Church Dogmatics may promise a way beyond the impasse.

In October 1862, John William Colenso, bishop of Natal, published a book entitled The Pentateuch and book of Joshua critically examined. Although this volume proved to be only the first of seven parts, and the bishop's life was eventful in other ways, the controversy surrounding this volume did more than any other single factor to determine Colenso's enduring reputation. To his critics, the publication of such a book was an outrageous and heretical act. When the book was discussed in the Lower House of Convocation, C. E. Kennaway was convinced that it should be labelled ‘Poison!’ and Archdeacon Denison declared that ‘No book can ever be brought under our consideration of a worse character than this’ and that ‘if a man asserts such things as are in this book — anathema esto — let him be put away’. In the end, both houses of Convocation resolved that ‘the main propositions’ of the book ‘involve errors of the gravest and most dangerous character’.

William abraham criticizes the Yale school of theology for its ‘systematic cultivation of studied obscurantism.’ Abraham does not doubt the intellectual gifts of the Yale theologians, but he chides them for failing to tell us something definitive about God. ‘One hopes for such minimal things from a theologian. After all, that has always been a central element of any serious theology.’

The motivation for taking a fresh look at Donald Baillie's christology as outlined in God Was In Christ, apart from the continuing intrinsic value of his work as compared to many contemporary incarnational theories, is found in the fact that Baillie's christology continues to surface in many contemporary works on christology. Moreover these discussions of Baillie's work offer a sufficiently diverse range of interpretations as to the value and nature of Baillie's christological theory so as to suggest that a deeper examination of Baillie's work might prove worthwhile. The sheer number of scholars who take the trouble to treat Baillie's work is sufficient to demonstrate his continuing relevance. Even if the intention is often simply to ‘knock him down’ it would seem that Baillie is still at least worthy of refutation.

Students of Karl Barth will recognize my title immediately: it is a paraphrase of Barth's own effort to understand Rudolf Bultmann. Like Barth, I seek really to understand, not to evade or repudiate; and really to seek, not to grasp insight as the better tool to punish the opponent. But like Barth again, I may find understanding an elusive goal. For I am one of those Christians Kaufman believes at odds with her own age.

George Lindbeck's book The Nature of Doctrin is often taken as a manifesto for a supposed ‘Yale school’, comprising Lindbeck himself, David Kelsey, Ronald Thiemann, Garrett Green and several others. The work of the late Hans Frei (1922–1988) is normally seen as central to this school, and his difficult writings are often explained by recourse to, and assumed to be adequately represented by, The Nature of Doctrine.

Ecumenical myopia?

As a participant in the interchurch scene for many years I have become increasingly conscious of a phenomenon which I can best describe as ‘ecumenical myopia’. Myopia means short sightedness, and what I am thinking about is the tendency for ecumenical vision to fall short of its true objective: the lines of sight converge to a focus too soon, and from then on — as my schoolboy physics tells me — they cross each other and diverge in different directions into an obscure and unfocussed blur.

In this paper I wish first to reconsider the nature of Gnostic soteriology in response to classic criticisms, ancient and modern, and then to suggest the perennial challenge that it poses to Christian theories of atonement.