One of the features distinguishing the work of Anselm of Canterbury is the systematic attempt to coordinate linguistic nuances with logical distinctions. At times this effort promotes subtle but provocative shifts in perspective that pass far beyond the frameworks of language and logic in their own right. Such a shift in perspective, I believe, marks Anselm's approach to a long-standing problem in Christian theology regarding the power of God. In seeking to clarify the ambiguous terminology of divine omnipotence, Anselm develops an intriguing sense of the “other side” of divine power—the susceptibilities and capacities of this world—that anticipates some of the most important philosophic tendencies of the twelfth century. It seems to me that Anselm's position in this respect has not been adequately recognized, and in this essay I would like briefly to try to situate him in that historic turn.

One of the most frequently-made statements about Christianity concerns its “historical” character—its grounding in a set of episodes in the life of the Israelite people that culminated in the climactic Christ-event, an event that brought into sharper focus than before a redemptive process that has been going on since the beginning of times and will last till the end of times. The assertion of this central aspect of Christian self-understanding has often gone hand in hand with a statement of what the Hindu philosophical-religious traditions are alleged to have lacked, namely, a historical sense. It is charged that Hindu thinkers believed that individuals are chained to never-ending cycles that do not lead anywhere, with all sense of meaning or purpose thus drained from temporal existence.1 A clear statement of such a demarcation comes from Alan Richardson, who states, specifically in the European context, that “ ‘Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him’ (Rom 6:9) … is the text which changed the outlook of European man upon history…. The European mind was freed by the proclamation of God's saving act in history from the fatalistic theory of cyclical recurrence which had condemned Greek historiography to sterility.”2 The Christian faith is believed to have liberated humanity from the tortuous cosmological circles of eternal recurrence, once in the world of late antiquity when it was still a fledgling in the milieu of Hellenistic mystery cults and much later in colonial British India when it came into contact with the patterns of classical Hindu thought. It is almost as if as an appendix to Saint Augustine's famous remark, “God did not create the world in time, but with time,”3 Christian theologians in his wake had added, “Therefore, Christianity did not come into the world in history, but with history.”

The Serekh or “Community Rule” (in all its variant manuscript forms) is one of the most famous of all the Dead Sea scrolls. It is commonplace to see it as referring to a sect of celibate men; the assumption is that it “contains no allusions to the presence of women in the group which it regulates.”1 However, in an important study, Eyal Regev has recently challenged the notion that celibate men are the focus of the Serekh texts, or of any manuscript in the scrolls corpus, by stressing that there are no explicit statements that deal with the issue of sexual asceticism, unlike what is found in monastic rules, or among the Shakers. Rather, other yaḥad documents (e.g., 4Q502 Ritual of Marriage or 1QSa Rule of the Congregation) refer to marriage, reproduction, and children.2 If this is so, why assume that the Serekh can only refer to a group of celibate men, even without explicit mention of women and children? Regev's view has essentially been the position of Lawrence Schiffman for many years, given the numerous references to issues of women and family in the halakhic texts of the scrolls corpus.3

A growing consensus recognizes that the differences among Christians in the late second and early third centuries were neither as obvious nor as great as representatives of later orthodoxy would have us believe, and that what divided Christians in this period were not so much different beliefs and ideas as different hermeneutical and ritual practices. This article approaches the same conclusion from a different angle: from the perspective of potential recruits to Christianity, drawing on social-scientific models of conversion. For them, the peculiarities of doctrine and even of practice that obsess ancient polemicists and modern scholars were often largely invisible. While those features could take center stage for mature converts—and hence in retrospective accounts of conversion—they seem to have played little role in bringing people to specific versions of the faith in the first place. Rather, for many Christian recruits, the road to “orthodoxy” or “heresy” began not in ideological attraction, but in attachments to family, friends, and patrons already inside the group.

The anonymous “Incipit fides Nicaena” is a unique, though much ignored, Latin text from the later fourth century. Its only critical edition, from a sole ninth century codex, was first prepared in 1913 by Cuthbert H. Turner, under the title of Commentarius in Symbolum Nicaeanum.1 Turner's version was reprinted in the first volume of the Patrologiae Latinae Supplementum (1958).2 There has been almost no further scholarly work done on this text since Turner's edition, nor has it been translated into any European language.3 As a result, no questions have been asked about the bearing of this work on post-Nicene doctrinal history as our understanding of the Nicene-“Arian” conflicts has been reformulated over the last two decades. In this essay, I want to address this gap in our understanding, although it must be said that there are more questions than answers raised by the existence of this small document. Specifically, we will see how this unique text sheds light on the theological influence that the Nicene Creed began to have in western churches in the second half of the fourth century. An attempt will also be made to demonstrate how this primitive explanation of the Creed offers an indication of its own approximate date and context.

The second book of Samuel was a neglected work in the theological, exegetical, and liturgical traditions of the Western church from the Patristic era through the Protestant Reformation. The theological developments and articulations of the early church focused on the books of Genesis, John, and the great Pauline corpus;1 for example, 1 Corinthians was central to the fourth-century trinitarian debates2 and Romans to the soteriological discussions of the entire western tradition.3 Similarly, the book of Psalms had an enormous impact on the liturgical life of the church as well as its christological statements.4 One need only cast an eye back to Augustine's numerous commentaries on the book of Genesis to understand the profound depth with which certain books of the Christian Scriptures were interpreted in the early and medieval church.5

At a meeting in Leningrad in December 1948, Soviet astronomers affirmed the need to fight against the “reactionary-idealistic” theory of a “primeval atom.” Support for this theory, later dubbed the “Big Bang” by one of its fiercest critics, would, the Soviets claimed, help clericalism.1 While such anxieties might seem astonishing today, they may have seemed plausible in the 1940s, especially since the theory had first been proposed by a Catholic priest, Father Georges Lemaître. Furthermore, while Lemaître himself was careful to avoid drawing theological inferences, the association of his theory with the religious doctrine of Creation, especially by Pope Pius XII in 1951, helped to motivate the search for alternative approaches such as the “steady-state” theory.2 In recent years, by contrast, the perception has been growing that the Big Bang theory has ceased to be offensive to atheist sensibilities. It is claimed that the Big Bang can now be accommodated safely within a self-sufficient system of natural causes, possibly by embedding the universe within an infinitely larger and eternal “multiverse.” Indeed, just a few months ago, the media reported with enthusiasm the assertions made by Stephen Hawking in his latest book, that contemporary physics has solved the mysteries of the Big Bang making recourse to God obsolete.3