I want to thank Professor Wolterstorff for his attention to some of the broader themes that cut across the authors' concerns. One of our hopes for this volume was that by taking a diverse mix of scholars, some with radically different views, and placing them in conversation, we might see themes emerge that cut across traditions, religions, and methods.

I was struck by his focus on the two-rule doctrine in his review (and his focus on Patrick Deneen's narrative of the “Great Combination”). This focus highlights the centrality of the rejection of the two-rule doctrine to the argument of The Mighty and the Almighty. Wolterstorff argues, as a corrective to Deneen's narrative, that the modern reception of the two-rules doctrine is a reversal of the earlier versions: “Hobbes and Locke did not undo Augustine's Great Separation but reversed the two-rules doctrine: religion was now enlisted in support of the state rather than the state being called to support the church.” I would emphasize that this, too, is an incomplete narrative. Locke's discussion of the liberty of conscience (which heavily influenced American thinkers like Elisha Williams and James Madison), toleration, the separation of powers, and the limits of state power in the face of individual liberties all work together in Locke to construct a relationship between the civil power and social and religious institutions that maps fairly closely to Wolterstorff's own vision. And this rests on fertile territory within Christian political theology, particularly in Luther's extension of the Augustinian doctrine of the two cities, which Wolterstorff discusses briefly toward the end of his book (145–147).

By my lights, the Lutheran version of the Augustinian idea of the two cities can help Christians understand the delicate calling for life set within a dynamic plural order, a life played out across many institutional and normative spaces. In the modern, late capitalist social order, we now live amidst many kingdoms (not merely “church” and “state”). Luther's insight in political theology — an insight for the ages — is that the multiple kingdoms have different roles to play in the human scheme of flourishing and freedom and their distinction is part of the divine intention of moral governance. This takes work on our part to keep them separated while living one life amidst all of them (and Luther's idea of vocation can serve as a basis for this responsible life within multiple spheres). While Wolterstorff says that Luther's vision in On Temporal Authority correlates to his own argument, I think there are more resources there for fine-tuning the applicability of the argument to a plural order where there are many religious communities.

On Wolterstorff's account, the Church's focus in the age of the democratic state should be in forming the shared religious communities of faith, values, and piety that claim ultimate allegiances of individuals in ways that far transcend the state's power. The Church and its members should tolerate the state when it keeps within its bounds and works for them. What I hope to hear more from Wolterstorff about is how the Church might then be under an obligation from within its own imperatives to reach out to fellow citizens from other religious communities in a common pursuit of ultimate concern and local justice. I wonder how dialogue and solidarity with other religious communities might emerge as themes in his own political theology, were he to write a second volume of political theology. This move toward dialogue is a facet of his argument fully ripe for harvesting, and it is a theme of some essays in our volume, as he notes.

Finally, reading his review triggered a lingering question I had about his whole project. Wolterstorff is emphatic that the prophetic presence of the Church creates the tension, pressure, and judgment that explicitly limit the state, especially in the contemporary era in which state power is increasingly decoupled from other spheres of life. How do other religious communities (and religious minorities, and emergent modes of religion and claims of conscience) also provide this tension? How should the Christian churches join up in a common cause, in spite of vast moral and ontological differences? If these religious communities are to be a prophetic voice reminding and teaching about the central role and value of human dignity (and a range of other visions of justice, goodness, and duties to responsibility), what do they do when the state refuses to cede ground? Is Polycarp still the model for the religious objector situated in the liberal state?