Our knowledge of the life of Justin “the Martyr” depends almost entirely on what he himself tells us, especially in the introduction to the Dialogue with Trypho, where he recounts his journey to the true philosophy, Christianity. It appears that he was born in the late first or early second century at Flavia Neapolis in Samaria into a Greek-speaking family. Although he refers to himself in one passage as a Samaritan by race (Dial. 120.6), this background seems unlikely, since there is no evidence that he was familiar with any Samaritan religious traditions. Rather, it appears that his ancestors were originally Greek or Roman colonists who settled in Flavia Neapolis after its establishment by Vespasian in A.D. 72. In any case, he certainly was not Jewish, for he did not encounter the Jewish scriptures until later in life.

A number of scholars have pointed recently to Ecclesiastes 9:1 as the epitome of medieval and late medieval spirituality: “No one knows whether he is worthy of God's love or hatred.”1 The quest for assurance of salvation constituted a major pastoral problem in the Middle Ages. It is no surprise, therefore, that catechetical handbooks as well as handbooks of spiritual theology offer signs by which one can gain some indication whether one is in the grace of God or not.

Medieval civilization was centered on theology. Theology inspired its arts, and theology shaped its research in science, law, medicine, and philosophy. The dancers at the court of the queen of sciences were mostly male, and one wonders what their female contemporaries thought or knew of the theological issues that were fundamental to the culture of the period. By the end of the Middle Ages it is probable that there was a high literacy rate among women of the middle and upper classes. Although it is unlikely that these women remained ignorant of the major debates that enlivened the conversations of educated men, evidence of their participation in theological endeavors is scant. Since women were excluded from the universities and formal training in the techniques of scholastic argument, it was virtually impossible for them to develop careers as professional thinkers.

Jane M'Neil died a “glorious death” in 1814 when she was just twelve years old. Perfectly composed during her last illness, she spoke warmly of her attachment to her Methodist class leader and calmly informed visiting neighbors that soon she would be laid in the graveyard. Her biographer recalled that when the local preacher came to pray with her, “the joys of the upper world [seemed] to have been manifested… She was thrown into ecstasies of joy; she shouted the praises of the Redeemer aloud.” Her mother's unregenerate prejudices against religious shouting were removed. Her physician, a non-Christian, “was melted into tears, and gave vent to the loudest exclamations of grief” when Jane exhorted him to flee to “the good physician of souls.” Squire M'Neil, her proud and haughty father, struggled with deep conviction of sin after her death and became converted, influencing many in the neighborhood to seek religion.1

Those individuals who seek to apply moral principles to their consideration of the affairs of nations of which they lack direct knowledge may expect to encounter certain difficulties. They may have no means of obtaining indisputable answers to questions even of a factual nature, and they may find it impossible adequately to weigh the contradictory claims of various factions. Moreover, if a religious or other close bond exists with one of the parties to a conflict, it might be tempting to subscribe to the justice of that group's struggle.