This article argues that, unlike some exegetes (e.g. Francis Moloney), Thomas Torrance correctly interpreted Mark 16:19–20 in support of a theology of the ascended Christ's continuing prophetic activity. In the ministry of the Word, Christ remains present and at work witnessing to himself. This prophetic office, associated with and not to be separated from his kingly and priestly functions, is not to be played down. He is the primary agent forever actively involved in Christian proclamation.

The Transfiguration narratives have received considerable attention from New Testament scholars, but so far very little has been written about them from the point of view of their reception-history. The purpose of this article is to examine the ways in which they have been interpreted in the Latin West from the time of Hilary of Poitiers in the fourth century to Peter of Blois in the early thirteenth. Among these writers, from the big names like Jerome to the lesser known figures like Peter of Celle, a varied tapestry emerges where light allegory plays an important part, whether in the symbolisms given to the choice of the three disciples, Peter, James and John, or to the dazzling clothes of Christ as baptismal – a particular insight of Bede, which keeps recurring in subsequent writers and preachers. Unlike the East, where the Transfiguration became a major festival on 6 August from the seventh century onwards, the Latin West was slow to absorb it; but it was given particular impetus by Peter the Venerable, Abbot of Cluny, in the twelfth century. Whether read as narrative in connection with Lent (‘glory before cross’), or as a festival in its own right, the Transfiguration emerges as an unusually rich source of biblical interpretation that poses real challenges to the use of the religious imagination today. And it provides a significant contribution to the development of a balanced view of reception-history in our own time.

In this essay I strive to exorcize an epistemological demon, the demon of closure. The demon has long haunted theology to devastating effect. It makes chimeric concerns appear urgent, encourages false trajectories of inquiry, fosters unnecessary fears, propagates intolerance, and instigates violence. I begin with Charles Taylor's exposure of the demon in the context of philosophy's free will/determinism debate. Second, I sketch the demon's haunting of the patristic trinitarian and christological controversies, and its recent haunting of theology vis-à-vis the problem of evil. Third, I delineate and champion what I call ‘Chalcedonian reason’ (Taylor calls it ‘revised transcendental reasoning’). Chalcedonian reason emerges in the wake of the exorcism of the demon of closure (and involves significant revision of modern ideas about rationality). I argue that Chalcedonian reason is as old as Job, emerges amazingly triumphant, if unrecognized, in the patristic period, fosters humility and openness to the Spirit, and is wonderfully consonant with Christian theology and spirituality.

The sole influential Scottish lay theologian, Thomas Erskine of Linlathen, was born in Edinburgh on 13th October 1788, the fourth son of David Erskine, a W.S. of distinguished ancestry, a member of the Church of Scotland who bought the estate of Linlathen near Dundee but who died in 1791. So Thomas spent much of his boyhood at Airth Castle in a quiet privileged atmosphere under the devoted care of his maternal grandmother, Mrs Graham. She was a devout Episcopalian whose influence mellowed his Presbyterian inheritance so that he came to favour episcopal forms. Though holding a deep religious faith, he never became a communicant member of any Church, though he attended Episcopal, Presbyterian and Congregational services.

Glossolalia is a phenomenon that has perplexed biblical scholars for generations. This paper challenges the majority view that glossolalia in the New Testament refers to ecstatic utterances and argues that the only independent New Testament testimony of the phenomenon is found in 1 Corinthians.

Theologians have long recognised the significance of the imago Dei in Christian theological anthropology, yet the question of how to construe the imago is not straightforward. This essay offers a fresh reading of Gregory Nazianzen's vision of the imago Dei. Hitherto, historical theologians have attributed to Gregory an essentialist interpretation of the imago, in which it is identified only with the rational soul. I argue that Gregory depicts the imago Dei quite literally as a visible icon of God by weaving together christology, pneumatology and beliefs about images and idols. If interpreted properly, Gregory's vision contributes significantly to contemporary interpretations of the imago Dei, which aim to account for christology, pneumatology and the inclusion of each human person in the imago.

Christian theology is an important perspective for theorizing about education. This article develops a possible theological perspective on religious education. RE these days is seldom Christian education. It is dominated by secular assumptions: it is to be open, multi-faith and descriptive. What might a Christian theology of education say of these developments? In section 1 the question is raised why RE should be taught in schools at all. In section 2 a theological analysis of what may be called ‘the climate of unbelief’ is attempted, and it will be shown how several of the assumptions of the new RE arise directly out of this. In section 3 some fresh criticisms of the phenomenological approach to religion are made, which if they are sound, will indicate that this approach need not be preferred to more traditional approaches to teaching religion. In section 4 it is suggested that both the alleged fact of modern secularity and the fear of religious absolutism provide no grounds for embracing a purely descriptive approach to religion. There is a simple, practical conclusion – there should be more Christian Studies and less Religious Education in schools.

This article is about John Cassian and Prosper of Aquitaine's understanding of grace and free will as put forward during the initial phase of the Western Church's struggle to define the doctrine of grace in the wake of the Pelagian controversy. Although both figured prominently in this struggle, both Cassian and Prosper's later understandings of grace and free will, which appreciated the diverse expressions of grace, failed to have any influence on the terms of the debate set forth in the Pelagian controversy. The history of the debate on grace and free will followed the mutually exclusive model in which salvation was the result of either grace or free will. Cassian and Prosper, who both offered an alternative to the mutually exclusive model, have not been fully recognised for their innovative views.

In a previous article entitled ‘Augustinian Universalism’, I argued that the principles of Augustinianism are compatible with universalism. For those who reason to Augustinianism on the basis of biblical-theological arguments, this may not be terribly troubling. However, if the logic of Augustinianism is consistent with universalism this sets up an Augustinian problem of evil. For if God could have created a world where all would have been saved, but did not, this calls divine benevolence into question. In this article, I set out to rebut Augustinian universalism by arguing that there are good theological reasons for thinking God does not bring about the salvation of all humanity.

“When I see you setting off down the road on Monday morning,” the village schoolmaster once said to me, “I sometimes wonder if you are regarding human life as radically as you did when you were preaching in the kirk the day before. You seem, somehow, easier-minded about it. You come into the school. What, honestly, do you see there? A fine bunch of children, going on their pleasant way to become decent men and women—or are they really heading for a life which is rooted in the world's evil, a life out of which you'll tell them in a few years they must be saved by the grace of God?

“And then on the Tuesday morning,” he went on, “you're off to the Presbytery. Now, tell me honestly, don't you meet together pretty much as any other body of people would do—to transact your business, to express your opinions, and to come to the judgment which your own experience has led you to hold? And yet your distinctive characteristic is supposed to be that you believe that human experience and human judgment are shot through with a deadly evil. You say that you distrust yourselves, that ‘of yourselves you can do nothing aright”—but I can't say that you look or sound particularly like people who are distrusting themselves. You say in your opening prayer that you want to be over-ruled and corrected—but you'll forgive me for saying that you don't seem very often to go through the process during the meeting that follows.

The root ts-d-q found in the Old Testament has always presented its interpreters with a challenge. It is the root from which modern versions usually offer us the word ‘righteous’. Actually two problems arise over it, for from this root we have both a verb and a noun. So we must discover in the case of the noun, what the feminine form tsedaqah actually means and how it differs from its masculine counterpart, tsedeq, if at all; and, in the case of the verb, what tsedeq means in the Qal as well as in the Hiphil, as hitsdiq.

From time to time controversy breaks out within Kierkegaardian scholarship as to the nature of Kierkegaard's concept of God. This controversy is invariably centred on Kierkegaard's claim that there exists ‘an infinite qualitative difference’ between God and humankind. The utter transcendence of God that this phrase expresses and the fact that Kierkegaard employs categories drawn from Greek philosophy to express the nature of God's transcendence have led such scholars as E. L. Allen, Richard Kroner, and Malcolm L. Diamond, to contend that Kierkegaard's understanding of God is not motivated by Christian principles but is merely a Christianization of an Aristotelian concept of God, a contention which would seem to be supported by Kierkegaard's frequent descriptions of God in terms of Aristotle's Unmoved Mover. On the other hand, such scholars as T. H. Croxall, Paul Sponheim, Niels Thulstrup, and Mark Taylor have rejected this argument and claim that Kierkegaard's concept of God is motivated by Christian principles. Unfortunately, none of these latter scholars has put forward a comprehensive defence of this position. In this article it is my intention to rectify this omission and to show that, far from being Aristotelian, Kierkegaard's concept of God is firmly based upon Christian principles.

The modern scene in Christian theology is characterized by a number of very diverse movements from feminism and liberation theology to radical views on christology and the charismatic movement. For many to speak or write about the Trinity is neither realistic nor helpful. In more recent writings, however, there has been renewed interest in the doctrine of the Trinity and in its application to the spheres of the church and also of social and political concerns. Further, a variety of groups as well as individuals have been turning their attention to this central Christian doctrine which is basically attempting to say what we believe about God: Barth, Moltmann, Jungel, the Torrances, on the Protestant side and the Roman Catholics, Von Balthasar, Rahner, and Congar, as well as the Orthodox Lossky, Zraoulas and Meyendorff. Groups like C.E.C. the Conference of European Churches (The Reconciling Trinity), and the British Council of Churches B.C.C. (The Forgotten Trinity) and the Irish Theological Association (The Trinity and the Enlightenment)have all dealt in varied ways with this subject.

This article attempts to show that Karl Barth and Thomas Aquinas are not as divergent as often thought. Taking Eugene Rogers's argument as a working hypothesis, I argue for two points of convergence between Barth and Aquinas, specifically on their understandings of analogy. First, both root analogy in christology. Using Christ as the great magister, Aquinas shows how Christ teaches us to see him, despite its difficulty, in his trinitarian divinity. Barth, using the imagery of the prodigal son, discusses how the incarnation places humanity in an ontological relationship within God's own dialogue within the Trinity. Second, both understand analogy as a theological practice, not a metaphysical mechanism or abstract doctrine, though metaphysics and doctrine are at play in their work. Both Aquinas and Barth attempt to train their readers in the judgement necessary to speak truthfully about God. This analogical relationship between Barth and Aquinas I call the analogia Christi.

Over the last fifty years studies of Anselm of Canterbury's concept of divine justice have delivered different results. The aim of this article is to present the results of a new comprehensive inquiry, based on the interpretation of key passages about justice in Anselm's theological works. The article argues that Anselm works with three definitions of God's justice. The first is the most traditional: God's justice is his right dealing with good and bad. The second definition follows the Anselmian concept of God: God's justice is his acting according to his being that than which nothing greater can be conceived. The third definition is God's rightness of will, preserved for its own sake. The article concludes that the attempt to show how these three definitions are related to each other brings to light tensions and loose ends in Anselm's works.

For many, that might well be the motto of Scottish Religious Education. It is what older people remember of it—Bible stories and the learning of the Scottish psalms. For a great many children, it is still its basis—except that by the time they reach Primary 7 they most certainly have heard it before and have no desire to hear it again. Scottish Religious Education, like much outside Scotland, has been Bible-centred.

In recent essays Professor John Hick has argued that serious theological consideration of the relationship of Christianity and other world faiths has become in the present generation for the first time unavoidable; that this must lead to a revolution in theological thought so radical that it can be spoken of as ‘Copernican’; and that the consequent reshaping of Christian doctrine, for which he has made a number of suggestions, cannot but change in deeply significant and quite unprecedented ways the traditional teaching of the Church. In this paper I wish to raise some questions about this ‘Copernican Revolution’, the exact nature of which is not made as clear as we might expect, as a theological response to the present situation, asking whether it is helpful in inter-religious dialogue and acceptable as an account of Christianity, of other living faiths, and of the relation between them.