Professor Gaffney begins by positing an important if disputed principle of interpretation: that the circumstances of the production, publication and reception of any text, and therefore of a biblical legal text, form an essential element of its interpretation. It could be argued that only on this methodological basis is it possible to respect the distance between the past and the present, the world of the text and that of its interpreter. Where this principle is set aside, the way is clear for the interested appropriation of texts as authorization for positions on which the interpreter has already made up his mind—and nowhere more so than in the sphere of ethics.

The example offered is that of the death penalty for blasphemy in the Old Testament. In this instance it may seem altogether too obvious that the religious and cultural bases for this stipulation of law have altered, and that therefore, on any but the most doggedly literalistic reading, the Bible at this point provides no warranty for judicial policy. The matter is less obvious with the prohibition of killing in the decalogue with reference to the crucial issue of the death penalty. A formidable obstacle to arguing on this basis for the abolition of the death penalty is the exegetical fact that Israelite society sanctioned the death penalty and, in fact, had recourse to it more often than some other ancient Near Eastern societies (e.g., the Sumerians). I am not saying that there are no good arguments against capital punishment which draw on Jewish and Christian tradition, but we are warned against a simplistic and interested appropriation of isolated biblical texts in support of particular ethical constructions.

In consultation with his pastoral advisor, James Luther Adams dictated two letters when one of his many strokes forced him to ponder his own mortality with a new urgency. In the first letter, he specified that a memorial service be held at his beloved Arlington Street Church in Boston (rather than in an academic setting), that it be on a Sunday afternoon so his daughters and the clergy could come, and that we have particular pieces of music.

His wishes in death extended his commitments in life: he loved the church and called those in academia to attend to its importance in the souls of individuals and in the destiny of civilizations, even though he often became a “smiling prophet” in his impatience with the ecclesiastical community. He loved his family, in spite of the fact that he knew that he often neglected them because he was preoccupied with a multitude of adopted sons and daughters, represented by the many ministers and professors here today. And he loved the arts, holding that true beauty also shows itself to have a “heart of service,” one that can reveal “the nature of existence, and the character of the transformed life,” as a marvelous homage to him, in ARTS, says.

The essays that follow were originally presented at a conference held in connection with the bicentennial of Georgetown University. The topic, the constitutional status of claims for exemption based on religion from general legislation, fit well into the bicentennial's theme “Learning, Faith, Freedom.” The connection between claims based upon faith and the freedoms we exercise could be illuminated by a scholarly examination drawing upon the disciplines of law, history, and theology.

The historical studies provide an overview of the background of the religion clauses of the first amendment, and a case study of the implementation of the principles of those clauses in the nineteenth century. Father Curry's essay stresses the inconsistency between the articulated principles of nonestablishment and free exercise, and the actual practices in the colonies and early republic. By bringing the historian's sense of the complexity of experience to the subject, he provides a useful corrective to the lawyer's usual effort to rely too heavily on historical experience to justify contemporary positions about the meaning of the first amendment. At the same time, Father Curry does not hesitate to say that the inconsistencies between historical practice and principles should probably be resolved in favor of principles, on the ground that practices were unreflective and habitual, whereas principles were articulated in the midst of controversies that required Americans to think seriously about the nature of their most fundamental commitments.

The history of Church-State relations in seventeenth and eighteenth century America is the account of the process by which the arguments of those who asked for exemptions from contemporary Church-State practices became the accepted norms for society at large.

There is an essential distinction, however, between the demand for exemptions in that period and modern claims for exemptions on account of religion. In our time, religious people ask for exemptions from laws that society generally sees as inherently secular; and they generally ask for exemptions for themselves or their group, but do not specifically attack the laws and usually have little difficulty with others being bound by them. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, laws such as proclamations of days of prayer and fasting, or laws for the financial support of clergy, were essentially religious in nature but were passed for the secular purpose of bolstering the moral fabric of society. Moreover, although those opposing them were often willing to settle for exemptions only for themselves, they usually attacked the legislation as bad for society, as a violation of religious liberty.