This chapter examines Augustine’s discussion of time in Book 11. The contrast between eternity, in which there is no succession or change, and time, which is nothing but succession and change, is a crucial first step. Augustine uses this contrast to distinguish between ordinary utterances and God’s creative Word, the coeternal Son. Time is itself created, so there is no sense in asking what God was doing before he created, though Augustine’s understanding of the relationship between time and eternity raises difficult philosophical questions that Augustine himself does not address, though recent philosophers of religion have done so. Augustine appears to hold that only what is (temporally) present exists. The most contentious issue is whether Augustine holds a subjectivist theory of time, and if so, what exactly that theory is. After canvasing the merits of possible answers to that question, the chapter concludes that the most charitable reading is that Augustine “does not seem to offer an account of what time is but instead ‘merely’ offers an aporetic examination of certain puzzles concerning time and our experience of it.” This construal is "entirely in keeping with his frequently open-ended and exploratory manner of philosophical investigation.”

This chapter elucidates the ways in which “narrative can serve as a tool for the orientation of consciousness.” The dual narrative of the Confessions – nine books of personal narrative, joined by a book on memory to a cosmic narrative of creation and redemption – conveys, and is intended to convey, theological truth. In his theological work Augustine draws on, amplifies, and corrects (as he sees it) such figures as Origen (though only at second hand), Basil of Caesarea, and Ambrose to articulate his own distinctive views on knowing and willing, the condition of the fallen human will, and the source and destiny of creation. In concluding remarks that elegantly distil the unity of the Confessions, that chapter observes that “Augustine cannot give an account of his life that is not also an account of the work of God.”

In the first paragraph of the modern translation of the Rationale divinorum officiorum of William Durand (c. 1230–1296) are markers of the change this book seeks to chart. One is immediately visible. The translator, Timothy M. Thibodeau, chose to distinguish through the use of italics what he then identifies, through the use of brackets, as biblical texts. Those italics and those brackets do not simply mark the modern sense of “source,” of a particular relationship between Durand and Scripture, that postdates Durand himself. They distinguish Scripture and, in so doing, obscure Durand’s understanding of revelation and its relationship to “ecclesiasticis officiis, rebus ac ornamentis.” There in the opening paragraph of the Prologue and throughout the Rationale, Durand presents a different relationship entirely among ecclesiasticis officiis, rebus and ornamentis, and biblical history, prophecies, psalms, Gospels, and Epistles.

This chapter lays out two key tasks in reading Scripture that Augustine identifies in the Confessions, and especially in his exegesis of Genesis: “the task of grasping meaning” and “the task of grasping truth.” The first task is that of discerning authorial intention; the second is that of “seeing for oneself that what the author is saying is in fact the case.” The task of grasping meaning is difficult in part because of the peculiar character of the Scriptures; they are both accessible to all, using ordinary language (which is open to misinterpretation), and yet full of profundities that only the wisest readers can come to appreciate. It is also difficult because we cannot really know what is in another person’s mind; any judgments about authorial intention are provisional at best, and only pride would claim to have identified the uniquely correct interpretation. The task of grasping truth is likewise difficult. When it comes to intelligible realities, Truth speaks inwardly, not through any text, even that of Scripture. When it comes to historical realities, including the central truths about the life of the Incarnate Word, we cannot have knowledge in the fullest sense.

This chapter focuses on the core issues concerning the doctrine of creation that were debated by early scholastic theologians. These include the view that God brought the world into being from nothing; that God created everything, all at once; and that creation occurred at the beginning of time.

This chapter describes how the Caribbean Court of Justice is embedded within colonial legacies that have affected regional political norms and legal culture. It shows the CCJ’s decisions are characterized by moderate deference, infrequently ruling in favor of states and typically eschewing restrictive interpretation. More deference, however, is observed through the Court’s remedial orders. The chapter links the CCJ’s tendency to not defer to its intermediate political constraints. Specifically, the CCJ’s strategic space is shaped by high formal independence that is partially offset by homogeneous state preferences. These factors combine to affect the Court’s legitimacy and signal when state resistance might be feasible and credible. In particular, the CCJ defers more when states are clearly aligned. The Court’s nondeference is facilitated by the Court’s practices of persuasive argumentation and public legitimation. The chapter also suggests the CCJ’s support network lacks the robustness necessary to account for its moderate deference.

This chapter describes how the creation and functioning of the African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights are shaped by the colonial past and its impacts on political norms and legal culture. It shows the ACtHPR’s decisions are characterized by minimal deference, as it commonly rules against states, abstains from restrictive interpretation, and issues intrusive remedial orders. The chapter connects the ACtHPR’s nondeference to its subtle political constraints. Specifically, the Court has a broad strategic space due to its relatively high formal independence and politically fragmented membership. These factors combine to enhance the Court’s legitimacy and suggest that collective state resistance is impracticable. Yet following exit from aspects of the Court’s jurisdiction, the Court defers more. The Court’s nondeference is facilitated by the Court’s practices of persuasive argumentation and public legitimation. The chapter also suggests the African Court’s support network cannot fully account for the observed minimal deference.

This chapter describes how the East African Court of Justice is rooted in colonial legacies, which affect regional political norms and legal culture. It shows the EACJ’s decisions are characterized by substantial deference, frequently ruling in favor of states and relying extensively on restrictive interpretation. Less deference, however, is observed through the Court’s remedial orders. The chapter draws linkages between the EACJ’s deference and its pervasive political constraints. Namely, the EACJ’s strategic space is narrowed by weak formal independence and moderate political fragmentation. These two factors combine to undermine the Court’s legitimacy and imply that state resistance is feasible and credible. A significant episode of prior resistance also suggests states could execute future resistance. To the extent the Court does not defer, the chapter reveals how persuasive argumentation and public legitimation facilitate nondeference. Last, the chapter illustrates how the Court’s support networks insufficiently account for its substantial deference.

The author’s exposition of the gospel message takes the form of a homily addressed in part to an audience located elsewhere, suggesting a comparison with early Christian letters. The author is clearly influenced by the letters of Paul, while comparison with the letters of Ignatius and the fragments of Valentinus’s letters bring to light significant contrasts that help to locate the Gospel of Truth more accurately within the early Christian literary landscape.

Keywords and images are deployed to communicate the gospel message that, in the person of Jesus, the divine Father has made himself known in a world otherwise lost in error and illusion. Its readers are taught to regard themselves as the elect, called out of darkness into light.

Chapter 4 turns to Cyril’s response to Julian in Against Julian. It provides an extensive overview of the narrative structure behind Cyril’s arguments against Julian. After surveying the setting, characters, and plot that frame Cyril’s arguments, it examines two leitmotifs that are crucial to Cyril’s reasoning and then provides examples of “narrative moments” in Against Julian. In broad outlines, the chapter reviews the well-known contours of emerging orthodoxy in the early church. But as a focused analysis of Against Julian, it also provides broad coverage of a text that has been understudied to date and further illustrates how a “narrative structure” lies implicit in something like a polemical treatise. It shows, finally, that despite Cyril’s exemplary status with most Christian communities he still had unique and idiosyncratic perspectives, some of which play noteworthy roles in Against Julian.

The chapter explains the process of building Meaning Networks and Systemic Networks, as described in chapter 6, for four semantic fields inspired by the concept of material process and a further two semantic fields inspired by the concept of relational process. The fields are: Change, Creation, Location_change, Possession_transfer, Equivalence, Logical_relation. For each semantic field, the constructions are described as they relate to one another. Their significant features are identified and expressed in Systemic Networks. The distinctions or choices between the constructions are modelled in taxonomies or Meaning Networks.

This chapter poses the most difficult objection for the instrument doctrine, in particular as Aquinas conceives of it. For Aquinas, a created cause, Christ’s humanity, produces divine effects as an instrumental cause. But the tradition has affirmed that God alone is the cause of grace in the soul, and no created cause can produce grace. John Duns Scotus puts this objection to Aquinas’s account of instrumental causality, and this chapter argues that the criticism appears to succeed. If a created cause participates in the production of grace, as Aquinas argues, then Scotus argues that Aquinas fails to maintain the distinction of natures and powers in Christ basic to Chalcedonian Christology. For Christ’s humanity is taken up into God’s power and brings about the deification of the human person immediately, something only divine power can do. The ground is prepared for a response to this objection in the following chapter.

Chapter 5 examines the Second Way, which starts from observing an ordering of efficient causes in the world and concludes to a first uncaused cause, which is God. After giving the translation and premises of the Second Way, I briefly compare the First and Second Ways and then look at what efficient causation involves for Aquinas. The rest of this short chapter considers the Big Bang as a rival account of the origin of the universe to invoking a divine nature. The chapter closes by briefly considering a multiverse.

This introduction assesses a range of popular and scholarly attitudes toward the current state of American democracy, identifying in them a dominant theme of modern democratic theory, namely, an aversion to conflict. Just as John Rawls believed democratic societies to be perennially threatened by a “mortal conflict” between comprehensive doctrines and their “transcendent elements not admitting of compromise,” and so proposed a theory of liberal order aimed at preempting, containing, and resolving these conflicts, so contemporary critics perceive the intractable disagreements and polarizations of American political culture to be only corrosive and destabilizing. They propose strategies for achieving social cohesion grounded in a sense of national unity, shared history, or common identity more fundamental to difference. Many religious persons and traditions exhibit a similar aversion to conflict, believing it to indicate some form of sin, injustice, or moral error. I question this presumption that conflict is inherently vicious, ruinous, or violent, and begin to sketch an alternative view of conflict as basic to human creaturehood and potentially generative for social life.