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In this article I compare the kryptic model of the Incarnation, developed by Andrew Loke, with two other models, the “two-minds” model and the kenotic model. All three models succeed in showing the logical coherence of the doctrine of the Incarnation, and I concede that Loke’s model has some of the advantages of both of the other two, while avoiding some perceived disadvantages. However, I argue that Loke’s model also has some of the disadvantages of both of the other models. In conclusion I argue that the alleged superiority of the kryptic model over a kenotic model vanishes if one is willing to question the reliability of our a priori rational intuitions about the nature of God on the basis of a view of the divine nature that seems to fit better with the biblical picture of God.

This article responds to articles by Joshua Furnal and Lee Barrett on the relation of Kierkegaard's thought to Catholic theology. I express appreciation for Furnal's claim that Kierkegaard had a deep impact on Vatican ii and suggest this was made possible by Kierkegaard's commitment to the early Christian fathers, which makes him a “ressourcement” theologian. Barrett's view of Kierkegaard's account of the relation between nature and grace is also applauded, and I suggest another way Kierkegaard can be seen as reconciling Protestant and Catholic thought on this issue. I conclude by putting this discussion into the broader context of Kierkegaard's positive reception by many different strands of Christianity, suggesting that this is made possible by Kierkegaard's commitment to something like “mere Christianity” in C.S. Lewis's sense, along with his fervent defence of passion and subjectivity as the elements that give life to religious faith.

In Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling , the pseudonymous author, Johannes de silentio, argues that either it must be true that religious faith can justify Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac on God’s command (as described in the biblical story in Genesis 22) or else Abraham is a murderer. The conclusion silentio defends has a disjunctive character, and he frequently admits that a person can reasonably deny that it could ever be right to kill one’s child, even if God commanded the act. However, such a person must, on pain of inconsistency, condemn Abraham. For example, in considering Problem I (whether there is such a thing as a teleological suspension of the ethical), silentio admits the possibility that Hegel is right in claiming that the individual who as an individual puts himself above “the universal” thereby does wrong. However, silentio argues that consistency requires that in making such a judgment, Hegel condemns Abraham’s action in being willing to sacrifice Isaac, since such an action is surely not something that can be seen as universal. Hegel’s view implies that Abraham “ought to have been remanded and exposed as a murderer” (FT 47/SKS 4, 149). It appears then that silentio wants to put some of his readers, namely Jews and Christians who revere Abraham as the “father of faith,” in a difficult spot. If they regard Abraham as an exemplar of faith, someone to be imitated, as did the writer of Hebrews , who describes Abraham as one of the heroes of faith, then it appears they must be willing to judge that Abraham acted rightly in being willing to sacrifice Isaac at the command of God. However, if Abraham was right in his actions, consistency seems to demand that the same judgment of approval be given to a hypothetical contemporary who has received a similar command from God. Of course secular readers may feel no strain here; many will unhesitatingly judge both that Abraham was wrong in his willingness to sacrifice Isaac and that a contemporary who intended such an action would be morally in the wrong. However, the choice is not so easy for those still committed to a religious tradition that venerates Abraham. Silentio in effect challenges such readers either to give up their admiration for Abraham or else admit the possibility that genuine faith might require a person to sacrifice a child.

Jesus. The Apostle's Creed signals the importance of history for the Christian faith by affirming that Jesus 'suffered under Pontius Pilate', an actual historical figure, though doubtless one who would have little importance were it not for his connection with Jesus. The Apostle Paul tells the Corinthians that if the resurrection did not occur (and I believe it is clear that Paul conceives of the resurrection as an historical event), then 'your faith is futile and you are still in your sins'.1 It is not surprising then that Christians have usually followed the writer of the fourth gospel in affirming the importance of knowing about the life of Jesus. There, after recounting the 'many signs' that Jesus did that were performed 'in the presence of his disciples', and affirming that Jesus did many others, the author tells his readers that these were written 'that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name'.2 Though Christians have traditionally affirmed the importance of this historical knowledge (or rational belief),3 they have not been in agreement as to how this knowledge is obtained. In this paper I propose to describe in some detail two accounts of how this knowledge is supposed to be obtained, looking at both classical and contemporary versions of each. I shall term these two approaches the evidentialist and non-evidentialist accounts. These two accounts have often been taken to be rivals, but I

The concepts of faith and revelation, though logically distinct, are related in a variety of ways. All of the great theistic religions, especially the Abrahamic faiths of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, have traditionally taught that God can be known only through revelation. Because God is conceived by these traditions to be all-powerful and all-knowing, it is impossible for anyone to gain knowledge of God unless God is willing for this to occur. In some sense, all knowledge of God is made possible by God's decision to allow himself to become known. Reflection on God's revelation in these traditions has generally distinguished between God's general revelation and what are termed special revelations.

Stephen Evans defends as religiously powerful and theologically legitimate, a ‘kenotic’ theory of the incarnation, arguing that some kind of divine ‘self‐emptying’ or ‘self‐limitation’ does justice to the NT accounts of Jesus and the claims of Chalcedonian orthodoxy. In particular, the chapter defends recent work by Stephen Davis and Ronald Feenstra, who hold that Jesus may be fully divine even if he divests himself, perhaps only temporarily, of such qualities as omnipotence and omniscience. The possibility of such divesting is implied by a plausible account of the nature of omnipotence developed by Richard Swinburne. Evans also proposes that a decision by God to become incarnated, literally embodied, is best understood as a decision to assume such limitations. In conclusion, the chapter discusses the implications of a kenotic theory for the exalted and glorified Christ, and the question as to whether Jesus, understood kenotically as the incarnate Word, can be personally identical with the pre‐existent second person of the Trinity.

L'A. defend la these suivante: l'âme est separee fonctionnellement du corps, mais en tant que substance elle en est seulement separable| elle en est distincte sans en etre separee. L'A. appuie sa these par une analyse critique du materialisme.