In the concern for inclusiveness, one area that has been largely neglected is the discrimination against left-handedness. This paper looks briefly at some of the scriptural and social stigmas and implications attached to left-handedness. Using Luther's theology of the cross as its basis, a left-handed theology is introduced. Arguing for the need for a theology which focuses on those who are marginalized, a left-handed theology offers a model whereby God's left hand offers to those who are in “minority” positions grace and solidarity. This is contrasted to the right hand of God, which portrays a God of power, strength, and triumphalism. The hand of God which one chooses to relate to determines, then, how one does theology, and how a theological inclusiveness is developed.

In early Buddhism, “seeing” means the direct apprehension of reality, when the senses operate undistorted by the mediating, corruptible influences of preconceived notions or cognitive analysis. To see in this way is to be wise, to be a buddha. Yet one reaches this ultimate achievement by cultivating analysis of one's sense perceptions, guided by preconceived notions accepted on the basis of faith. By looking at several Pāli texts that teach the fundamentals of the Buddhist path, one can see how the Theravāda Buddhists resolve this congruity between their goal (direct, unmediated seeing) and the means to reach it (faith and reason): they treat both faith and reason as useful tools to be discarded when one has outgrown the need for them.

This article explores the criticism made against “virtue ethics” that it is insufficiently normative and thus is unable to assist decision makers in making practical moral choices. By assessing the claims, strengths, and weaknesses of contemporary proposals for “character ethics,” the article contends that a virtue approach to ethics does yield some central moral norms. An ethical perspective that combines these norms with the insights offered by the idea of virtue itself provides a compelling framework for moral choice. A case study illustrates the claims.

This article describes the experience of a man teaching feminist theology to an undergraduate class. It offers insights into the encounters between a male teacher and a class of students comprised mostly of females. It examines how the students react to the issues raised by feminist theology and what corrections, criticisms, and contributions they make toward the subject and the teacher. While the article indicates a number of the difficulties involved in teaching this area of theological inquiry in general, and in particular for a man, it argues that there are important pedagogical and theological reasons for men to teach the subject.

All of us have memories—good and bad—of learning experiences. Ridicule or a rap on the knuckles produced fear and intimidation. A knowledgeable and enthusiastic teacher may have opened the door to a life's work or even to a never-ending love for learning. One can be sure that affectivity was one key element in such experiences.

When you think of the emotional, feeling aspects of learning experiences, what comes to mind? What is the setting? Who are the persons? What is the material? How would you describe the affective aspects of this experience? What elements were instrumental in eliciting strong feeling? What were the effects of this experience? Was it enjoyable? And finally, is this a common or rare type of experience in your life? With these questions in mind, let us reflect on several important aspects of the role of affectivity in the teaching/learning experience.

My interest in affectivity emerged when I was a campus minister at a large university. Years of conversations with faculty and students about their faith experience produced a persistent question. Why did the emotions seem so non-functional in this arena? I began to wonder how persons understood and talked about affectivity before the Western emphasis on reason and strict empiricism became so pronounced. I discovered that scholars had described the medieval period as a time of intense emotion and longing, fierce passion and ardent desire. The first phase of my search ended in the thirteenth century with an analysis of affective language in the spiritual writings of the Franciscan professor at the University of Paris, Bonaventure.