The claim I propose to make for Joseph Haroutunian as a theologian is a very large one. And because the size of that claim will appear excessive to those who knew this man only as an acquaintance or in occasional conversation, or heard him only in one of his many ad lib performances, a preliminary reminiscence is required. I have never known a man whose manner so completely failed justly to represent the matter! Maybe it was the Armenian joie de vivre, the sheer ebullient, vivacious, hurry-up impatience, the mercurylike ductility of spirit and quick-turning mind. All of that, plus a love of companionship that acted upon him like a shot of adrenalin straight into the cerebrum and on into talk. And, too, it must be added, a ham-actor bit of boyishness that learning was never able to mollify, a professorship was never able to drape with conventionality, and grave and distinguished company was not able for very long to hold in check! This manner, except in formal essays and books, worked upon the matter to give the surface impression of disorder, nonconsecutiveness, a helter-skelter rich mixture in a violently shaken bag. Some of us, after years of apprenticeship, were able to qualify as Haroutunian exegetes; we could see, and came highly to honor, the web that made a single package out of the rattling components. But the fresh arrivals in Haroutunianland were liable to be more bewildered than instructed. I remember an instance. Around a big and ominous slab of table in the common room was gathered a group of men from the divinity school faculty. They were well into the oral colloquium for a wan and edgy candidate who sat in a detached and exposed position at one end of the table. To this poor fellow Mr. Haroutunian addressed a question. The question began in midair, and ended there. In between were about a dozen qualifying phrases, an equal number of "you knows" (which had in Haroutunian's oral prose both the intention and frequency of n'est ce pas). The mutilated question crawled into the hearing of the