This chapter examines ideas pertaining to the rational-discursive faculty and species difference that took shape within the discourses of medieval Judaism and Christianity. The chapter’s first section centers on two non-human animals described as speaking in the text of the Hebrew Bible: the serpent of the Garden of Eden and Balaam’s she-donkey. It argues that whereas works of serious exegesis by authors like Augustine and Maimonides downplayed the potentially radical significance of the talking done by these scriptural creatures, the medieval literary reimaginings of the same scenes indulged in drawing out the unorthodox implications of the non-human chatter. The chapter’s second part then considers Christian attitudes toward the naturalistic question of whether non-human animals outside the Bible actually do possess the rational-discursive faculty in some measure. Here, a clear progression can be observed over time: Despite the willingness of some early authors to humor this possibility, non-human animals gradually became barred from all conceptual access to rational thought.

Through a close analysis of the diction used by medieval translators of the biblical narrative in which Adam names the non-human animals, this introduction presents the book’s scope and argument. The first human seems to have had no difficulty giving the other animals their names, his success implicitly communicating his dominance as a rational, speaking creature; exegetes like Augustine pressed this point, citing the naming narrative as evidence for humanity’s status as the only rational animal. However, the medieval translators who rendered the naming scene in words of their own seemed notably less confident than Adam, their texts differing from one another in ways that suggest the discovery of uncertainty and confusion, rather than intuitive transparency, where speech and species intersect. The difficulty reflects fundamental features of the medieval lexicon employed to articulate the relationship between speech, reason, and species identity: Crucial terms such as animal and beste were ambiguous and inconsistent in meaning, leaving the precise place of the rational-discursive faculty in a state of suspense.

This chapter investigates the growth of medieval literary traditions descended from Aesop’s fables, which differed from their Late Antique predecessors in that they increased the proportion of non-human characters featured in their collections and amplified the prominence of non-human speech in the texts themselves. It argues that these developments contributed to a shift in the relationship between truth and fable, which had traditionally been antithetical: A “fable” was a synonym for a lie, since fables imagined scenes of beastly speech that could not happen in reality; to arrive at useful knowledge, readers were enjoined to ignore all the non-human chattering and focus on the morals. In these new literary works, the source of knowledge shifted to a point within the very field of non-human speech, with the speaking beast becoming a detour by which the most convoluted paradoxes of species identity could be explored in words.

This chapter explores Augustine’s intellectual formation and conversion to Christianity in the context of late antiquity’s philosophical, religious, and political transformations. Tracing his journey through Manichaean dualism, Neoplatonism, and finally Pauline Christianity, the chapter highlights Augustine’s struggles with the nature of evil, the limits of human will, and the role of divine grace. Drawing on the Confessions, it examines Augustine’s dialogue with Platonism, particularly Plotinus, whose hierarchy of being and emphasis on inner ascent deeply influenced him – but could not resolve the question of the incarnation. Augustine’s embrace of Christ as both divine and human offered a radically new model of wisdom grounded in humility and love (caritas), unavailable in pagan philosophical traditions. The chapter contextualizes Augustine’s thought within Roman imperial history, the codification of Christian scripture, and the evolving notion of philosophy as a way of life. Ultimately, it shows how Augustine’s life and writings forged a new intellectual synthesis, in which classical reason and biblical faith coalesced into a powerful vision of human transformation, one that would shape Christian anthropology, literary practice, and theological reflection for centuries.

The papacy played a key role in establishing the canon of the Bible for the West.

The anthropology and soteriology of western Christianity were radically reinterpreted in the fifth century CE by Augustine of Hippo, who constructed a fictional ‘Pelagianism’ to delegitimise opposition to his new theology of original sin, an absolutist account of prevenient grace, and predestination interpreted as preordainment. This chapter gives an outline of the issues involved in this attempt to relocate orthodoxy, the course of events relating to Pelagius and his defence of eastern ascetic Christianity, and the afterlife of controversy over this new account of the anthropology and soteriology of Christianity.

Augustine of Hippo (354–430) was astonishingly prolific, writing sermons, letters, dialogues, a monastic rule, treatises on a variety of subjects, and works of scriptural exegesis, with Genesis and the Psalms being his special interests. Among his best-known works is the Confessions, which is sui generis in ancient literature: an autobiography laced with plaintive prayer, philosophical speculation, and raw self-examination. It relates a journey both spiritual and geographical, one that follows a path of lust and ambition toward conversion and baptism and from the North African countryside where Augustine was born to Carthage, Rome, and Milan, great cities of the western Roman Empire. Written in a gorgeous, protean Latin into which are woven myriad references to classical and biblical texts, the Confessions is a literary masterwork.

Augustine was plunged into the Donatist controversy upon becoming bishop of Hippo in 395. In the wake of the Diocletianic persecutions in the early fourth century, the Donatists had split from the group whom Augustine called and considered “catholics” (i.e., “worldwide Christians”), creating a schism in the North African church that lasted for well over a century. The very nature of the church was in dispute: Donatists believed that the church must retain its purity and holiness, separating itself from sinners, whereas catholics maintained that the church could tolerate the presence of sinners as long as consent was not given to their sin. Donatists believed that catholics were implicated in the sin of those who lapsed in the Diocletianic persecutions by handing over the scriptures to imperial authorities; they believed that only by retaining its purity in this way could the church guard against catholic contagion. Furthermore, they regarded any sacrament administered by a cleric in a state of sin as invalid, and accordingly former catholics entering their communion had to be baptized (for the first time, in their view).

Among his many duties as bishop of Hippo in North Africa, Augustine (354–430) oversaw the reception of converts into the church. When newcomers to Christianity were ready to prepare for baptism, they were designated as catechumens. The catechumenate was a period of training, often lasting several years, in which newcomers learned how to live as Christians. At the beginning of each Lent, those catechumens who wished to be baptized at the upcoming Easter would submit their names and thereby formally become “petitioners” (competentes). During Lent the petitioners engaged in a number of ascetical and ritual practices designed to complete their initiation into the Christian way of life. These included fasting, undergoing periodic exorcisms, and receiving special instruction from the bishop by listening to sermons that covered a broad range of Christian doctrine and practice. Two weeks before Easter, petitioners participated in a ceremony known as the traditio symboli, the “handing over” of the creed. At this ceremony the bishop formally recited the creed, with the expectation that afterward the petitioners would memorize it. There was a similar ceremony that “handed over” the Lord’s prayer (traditio orationis). At the Easter Vigil, the petitioners would “hand back” the creed (redditio symboli) and the Lord’s prayer (redditio orationis) by reciting them before the congregation and fully participate in the Eucharistic liturgy for the first time, in the course of which they received the sacraments of initiation: baptism, chrismation, and Eucharist. During the Easter octave – the eight days from Easter Sunday to the following Sunday, counting inclusively – the newly baptized, whom Augustine called “newborns,” would attend sermons that unpacked the meaning of the sacraments they had just experienced and received at the Easter Vigil.

In his autobiographical Confessions, Augustine (354–430) recounted his own circuitous path to Christianity. When he later became bishop of Hippo in North Africa, Augustine oversaw the reception of converts into the church. So Augustine was intimately aware of dynamics of conversion and the many forms it could take from both personal and pastoral experience. In Sermon 279, which was preached in Carthage on Sunday, June 23, 401, Augustine touches upon several facets of conversion to Christianity.

This chapter examines the role of the papacy in the history of marriage regulation in a long-term perspective. The core theme of corporeality is investigated between doctrine and practice. On the one hand, the body is a central good whose rights of use are mutually exchanged by the spouses within the framework of the marriage contract; on the other hand, it is a deadly burden, the place where the flesh manifests itself with its law that contradicts reason. In the light of this tension, the position of papal authority – in particular the power to bind and dissolve – is addressed by examining its pronouncements, especially the Decretales, conciliar legislation, and the publication of encyclicals and apostolic exhortations up to the most recent on the subject: Amoris laetitia, by Pope Francis I. Finally, some cases that have been dealt with by courts such as the Penitentiary, the Holy Office, and the Rota are examined.

The introduction looks at the different ways that the unique, but troublesome, injunction at the heart of the Sermon on the Mount for the followers of Jesus to ‘Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect’ (Matt. 5.48) has been interpreted within Christian history. It looks specifically at the interpretations of John and Charles Wesley, John Calvin, Thomas Aquinas, Augustine of Hippo, Gregory of Nyssa and Tertullian and argues that Aquinas’ is the most sophisticated. It suggests how each reflects the influence of their particular social contexts and their radically different theological takes on humanity, while holding in common a clear distinction between human and divine perfection.

This introduction situates the book within the landscape of contemporary christology, arguing that a non-competitive christology or a “Chalcedonianism without reserve” best accounts for Christ’s human receptivity to the world. This book will develop such an account through the resources offered by Augustine of Hippo’s christology.

This essay offers an account of Thomas Aquinas’s very complex understanding of love (amor) and related concepts, such as delight (delectatio) and divinely infused charity. It acknowledges the many Platonic influences on Aquinas’s thought in these regards, influences that come to him especially through Augustine of Hippo and Pseudo-Dionysius – both of whom he occasionally criticizes, however, for adhering too closely to Platonic doctrines. Aquinas is intent upon tying all human love in some sense to nature, acknowledging that this entails that in many regards human love is necessitated. To the extent, however, that the rational appetite (the will) is involved, love is not necessitated. The divinely infused virtue of charity brings in further complications, for it is a love that is not natural but comes to a person from above: it is supernatural. And yet it too, according to Aquinas, is not wholly necessitating but affects man in a way that leaves his will free.