The third chapter looks at the Western reception of Dionysius the Areopagite in the early Middle Ages and the channelling of thinking on theosis through Dionysius into the Western mystical tradition. This tradition is examined from Bernard and Bonaventure to the Rhineland mystics and Nicholas of Cusa, revealing a constant concern to integrate the intellectual ascent to the vision of God with experiential participation in the Word by faith.

Focusing on the Middle English poem, Pearl (with evidence from other literary works), this essay considers how the initial situation of the Dreamer explores a half-dozen principles for literary invention that are distinctively medieval, including personal displacement and feelings of anxiety, bewilderment and marvelling. These qualities define the initial state of mind which enables the Dreamer’s visions to occur and develop. Aristotle wrote in his Metaphysics (I. 2) that philosophising begins with wondering and questioning, a principle revered throughout the Middle Ages. Though all these elements of what we now call ‘creativity’ have their roots in practices of invention and argumentation described in ancient philosophy and rhetoric, the particular shapes that these classical principles assume by the late Middle Ages derive from long-established traditions of monastic meditation and contemplative envisioning more than from academic rhetoric and logic. Bonaventure’s opening to his Itinerarium mentis ad Deum recounts the marvel of Francis of Assisi’s seraphic vision, adapting it as a general method for meditation; Chaucer’s Squire’s Tale turns the marvels of the flying horse and visionary mirror into problems in optics and engineering. Pearl turns the dreamer’s initial wondering within a brilliant fantasy to the means for understanding his own human condition.

In this chapter the profound theology and spirituality of St. Bonaventure is discussed. After a short introduction of his life, his views on emanation, exemplarity and illumination receive due attention. Bonaventure’s spirituality in light of his profound Trinitarian theology is also discussed in detail.

Peter Casarella presents the themes in Joseph Ratzinger/Benedict XVI’s reflection on conscience. An important part of Benedict’s theory is his theology of culture. Current ideas about conscience and culture minimize truth. Benedict posits that conscience is a law on the heart and is not merely consciousness. He submits that culture points to the unveiling of a Redeemer. He proposes “interculturality,” the meeting of cultures in which their hope for Advent is kept. Regarding truth and conscience, Benedict works with Newman and Socrates. He concludes that conscience is the voice of truth in the subject. Benedict’s theory of conscience hews the Thomistic line between synderesis and conscience as an act of judging upon a good. Benedict guards against relativism by suggesting that synderesis can be known by the Platonic idea of anamnesis: memory of the true and good. This is tied to Benedict’s anthropology, namely humans’ reliance upon God and capacity for dialogue with Him. Though social circumstances can be sources of moral knowledge, the person should consult God’s will. Consciences are formed through Scripture, the Holy Spirit, the magisterium, beauty, and identification with Christ.

Chapter 2 examines the reception of Aristotle’s action theory from the 1220s to 1277 and its influence on novel theories of free will developed in this period. It shows that the reception of Aristotle led to a “psychological turn”: instead of assuming the existence of free will, theologians began to argue for it by clarifying the nature of intellect and will, in which free will is grounded. The chapter canvasses the theories of free will in broad strokes from William of Auxerre to Bonaventure, and in more detail regarding Thomas Aquinas and Siger of Brabant, whose views will provoke strong reactions. Following Aristotle closely, Aquinas understands choices as determined by the practical deliberation that precedes them; one chooses as one judges worth choosing, and one can choose otherwise only because deliberation allows one to judge otherwise. Appealing to the authority of Avicenna, Siger argues that what causes the will’s acts does so necessarily.

Chapter 7 examines medieval theories of the first cause of evil. Although Augustine denied that something good is the cause of evil, medieval thinkers routinely attributed to him the view that something good – the will understood as a power of the soul – causes something evil. The majority of the thinkers considered in this chapter use Aristotle’s notion of accidental causality to argue that the will can cause evil not per se – that is, not intending evil as evil – but incidentally. Nevertheless, if the will causes evil, they face the dilemma that a good will cannot cause evil at all, and an evil will cannot cause the first evil will. Medieval thinkers deal with this dilemma in different ways. For example, Bonaventure and others hold that the created will is naturally defectible, and hence not entirely unflawed, and so it can do evil. Aquinas argues that the will causing evil for the first time presupposes a momentary nonculpable deficiency, which becomes culpable at the moment of the evil choice. For Scotus, the will is so free that it can do evil even if it is unflawed. Although all these views trace evil to the will as its cause, they hold that evil is ultimately unexplainable.

Chapter 9 examines explanations of the angelic fall by voluntarists and thinkers holding an intermediary theory of free will. These nonintellectualist accounts agree – contrary to intellectualists – that there was deficient willing before there was deficient cognition. For some voluntarists, the discussion of angelic sin serves above all as confirmation of their own theories of free will (e.g., Henry of Ghent) or as proof that their adversaries are wrong (e.g., John Pecham). Others go further and try to give a plausible account of how the evil angels could intentionally make their choice (Peter Olivi), and to explain how their will could be defective while their cognition was unflawed (Duns Scotus). Among thinkers professing an intermediary theory of free will, the chapter considers Giles of Rome, whose account of angelic sin fits nicely with his general theory of the relation of ignorance and evil, and Peter Auriol, whose explanation of angelic sin does not sit comfortably with his theory of free will.

Chapter 2 explores how Franciscan theologians understood the similarities and differences between animals and humans. The Summa Halensis most frequently stressed clear difference and a strong boundary. Similarities were recognized, however, especially in relation to the corporeal. The Summa was not consistent in its approach to these similarities: sometimes they were simply natural features posing no moral or intellectual challenges, whereas on other occasions they were dangerously deceptive and symbolic of human sin. Bonaventure also accepted that in many respects the bodies of humans and animals were the same. Beyond this, however, he was not struck by much in the way of similarity. He took it for granted that humans were the most perfect animals, unique amongst animals in their possession of reason. Made in the image of God, humans related to God very differently from animals. Animals served humans, answering to their bodily and even emotional needs. Bearing symbolic meaning, they were God’s tools. Bonaventure did not see any of the similarities that underpinned more complex understandings in the work of others. For Bonaventure, the boundary between humans and animals was always clear-cut.

Chapter 23 considers the range of Catholic positions that were represented during the Council of Trent’s debates on justification. Although some representatives are best considered as independent theologians, not specifically committed to one of the leading schools of theology of this period, it is clear that many of those present aligned themselves with one of three schools: the early Dominican school (based mainly on the works of Thomas Aquinas), the early Franciscan school (based mainly on the works of Bonaventure), and the later Franciscan school (based mainly on the works of Duns Scotus). This chapter considers the basic position of each of these schools of thought in relation to the questions being discussed. Although some earlier accounts of the Tridentine discussions of justification suggest that there was a distinct Augustinian school of theology represented, the evidence does not support this view.

The second part of this work consists of seven chapters exploring the development of the doctrine of justification in the Middle Ages, set against the backdrop of the discussion of theological method during this important and extended period. This chapter focusses on the medieval understandings of the nature of justification, in which the views of Augustine on the nature of justification as a ‘making righteous’ of the believer is amplified and elaborated. Of particular importance here is the medieval exploration of the inner dynamics of justification, framed in terms of the Processus Iustificationis (‘process of justification’), which correlates the various elements of the transformation of the believer, including ontological and relational issues. Particular attention is paid to the discussion of this theme in the early medieval theological tradition, focussing especially on the early Dominican and Franciscan schools.

Chapter 24 examines the records of the Tridentine discussions of justification which took place over the period 22–28 June 1546. These discussions indicate how the basic agenda was set, and how a number of approaches were explored, before the final structure of the Decree on Justification was developed. These discussions are of major importance in interpreting the final Decree on Justification, as they often indicate why a particular form of words was adopted in preference to another. Perhaps the most important of these is the revised version of the eighth chapter of the draft decree that was drawn up for discussion on 11 December 1546, concerning the formal cause of justification. The original wording recognised that there was una (‘one’) such cause. This was considered to allow that other formal causess might also be countenanced, and so was replaced by unica (‘single’, ‘sole’ or ‘one and only’).