Near the center of Anselm Kiefer's watercolor, Everyone Stands Under His Own Dome of Heaven, stands an inverted half-globe in the middle of a field. We know that it is winter, for patches of snow partially obscure the bare ground, which is itself marked by receding, interrupted lines of exposed roots and clumps of dirt where crops once grew and could, one imagines, grow again. Within the clear blue dome a small human figure in a dark green military uniform raises his right arm. His apparent salute is directed at no one in particular, since he is utterly isolated.

The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, a liturgical composition whose fragments were discovered among the Dead Sea scrolls, comprises thirteen songs that describe the heavenly temple and the angels who serve in it as priests and whose main ritual duty is to praise and glorify God.1 These topics are taken commonly to indicate that the Songs was composed in priestly circles, stems from classical priestly traditions, and reflects a priestly agenda and worldview. Thus, for instance, a priestly provenance of the Songs was entertained by Johann Maier.2 Israel Knohl also detected a continuation of priestly traditions and conceptions in the Songs.3 The prominent proponent of this view is Rachel Elior, who presented a sweeping synthesis according to which a direct and continuous tradition leads from biblical priestly literature, through sectarian writings from Qumran—and the Songs in particular—to Hekhalot literature. In her view, these texts exhibit numerous thematic, ideological, and terminological affinities that prove that they are parts of a single, well-defined stream of tradition, nurtured by priestly circles.4

The last few years have seen a renewed interest in the study of papyrological remains as a means of shedding light on early Christianity.1 To add further evidence to this discussion, I draw attention to two papyri in Yale University's Beinecke Library. In 1997, Yale acquired several papyri from Galerie Nefer in Zürich. The lot contained papyri ranging in date from the Ptolemaic era to the Medieval period. Two of these pieces (both, unfortunately, without specific provenance) appear to be Christian textual amulets.

This essay seeks to put to rest the notion that John Milton was an antinomian, by offering a concise summation of the relevant chapters of De doctrina Christiana that discuss his views on the covenants, the law and the gospel, and Christian liberty.1 Defining antinomian is a difficult task, as its manifestations throughout history have not been monolithic.2 During the seventeenth century in England, two kinds, broadly speaking, existed: 1) doctrinal antinomianism; and 2) licentious antinomianism.

In marked contrast to much of twentieth-century psychology and philosophy, prevailing accounts of affect, emotion, and sentiment in the eighteenth century took these phenomena to be rational and, to a certain extent, cognitive.1 Because of a combination of disciplinary diffusion and general lack of physicalist assumptions, accounts of affectivity in the eighteenth century also tended to be quite flexible and nuanced. This is particularly true of an influential stream of Anglo-Scottish and German thought on morality, aesthetics, and the philosophy of religion. Following Shaftesbury, many of the most prominent philosophers of the century regarded affective states and processes as playing a crucial role in accounts of value. In most cases, this tendency was combined with a sort of anti-rationalism, that is, with a tendency to minimize the role of reason in everything from common sense perceptual knowledge to religious belief. Hutcheson's moral sense theory and his well-known and influential criticisms of moral rationalism exemplify this trend.2 It is perhaps more pronounced in Lord Kames, who followed the lead of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson in aesthetics, moral theory, philosophy of religion, anthropology, and history.3 In Germany, this stream of thought was quite well-received by philosophers both inside and outside the dominant Wolffian tradition.4 Particularly important and influential in this respect were Johann Georg Hamann, who drew upon Hutcheson, Hume, and the “Common Sense” school to defend a conception of faith as “sentiment (Empfindung),” and Johann Gottfried Herder, a polymath and philosophical pioneer whose work in psychology, anthropology, history, aesthetics, biblical criticism, and theology consistently stresses the fundamental role of passion, affect, and sensibility in every aspect of human culture.5

During the seven years that I worked at the Institute of Oriental Studies (Leningrad Branch, 1965–1972) I was happy to be associated with an outstanding senior colleague, a wonderful scholar, and an even more wonderful person Igor Mikhailovich Diakonoff, a world famous scholar in many areas of history, philology, and linguistics. In this essay it is not his professional activity that interests me but rather his moral attitude as expressed in his short meditation on ethics.