At first sight Athenagoras's treatment of Christian ethics in his Supplicatio pro Christianis xi and xii appears to be anti-philosophical. According to Athenagoras the Christian way of life is based on doctrines taught by God and not by man. Ethical precepts are not derived from dialectical exercises, but are Christian dogmas which come from God and through Scripture (xi p. 128, 11 ff.). The basis for his discussion of Christian ethics is a conflation of Mt. v. 44 f. and Lk. vi. 28 (xi p. 128, 14 ff.). This represents a change in his method of argumentation from his earlier theological discussion (vi–x) where he proceeded on the basis of reasoning (λογισμοὐς) which was then confirmed by Scripture (ix p. 126, 29 ff.). Furthermore, for him ethics is motivated by a knowledge of the Trinity (xii p. 129, 17 ff.) and is the following of correct knowledge governed by an expectation of the Judgment (xii p. 129, 3 ff.). However, Geffcken and Ubaldi have shown that Athenagoras uses certain philosophical traditions in this discussion, and that his attack on the sophists was in good philosophical form. This article will examine Athenagoras's method of argument to determine more clearly what philosophical models he did in fact use.

Ockhamism was a radical restatement of the relation of revealed truth to natural experience. Its force lay in the systematic application—one might say exploitation—of the different criteria appropriate to each. That they were different was universally accepted; but not until Ockham were their differences methodically shown to be unassimilable. The reasons were not only epistemological; they were also theological. The limits to natural knowledge set by Ockham's insistence upon verification had their counterpart in the absence of limits to God's omnipotence—save self-contradiction. Ockhamism was not just empiricism; it was an extreme restatement of Christian belief in divine omnipotence and the contingency of creation. The disruptive effects lay not in the belief itself but in the play upon it, especially by Ockham's followers.

Lord Acton believed that there was a dichotomy in English history between the life expressed in the Church and the principle of nationality. It is evident from a study of the writings of John Wyclif (c. 1320–84) that at least one medieval English theologian asserted that a principle of English nationality was fused into the life of the English Church. Regardless of how the next fifty years of scholarship may judge the connexion in medieval Christianity between national traditions and the universal Church, the English aspect of it is important at present. Wyclif provided the original impetus to the Lollard movement. Increasing scholarly attention has been given to Lollardy and its possible influence on the English Reformation. It now seems important to survey systematically the texts of Wyclif's treatises themselves for what light they may shed on the relationship between ecclesiastical and temporal history in the English tradition.

Until comparatively recently, it was tacitly assumed that the supporters of the Council of Basle (1431–49) and of pope Eugenius IV (1431–47) had little to contribute to ecclesiology, and (with the exception of Nicholas of Cusa) virtually nothing to political thought. The Council of Constance has generally been taken as the climax of medieval ecclesiastical constitutionalism; and it seemed that the subject of papal sovereignty had been thoroughly exhausted in the previous centuries.

In 1544, one Francesco Colonna, making his testament in Venice, wrote: ‘I recommend to Almighty God my being and my soul, and when it is his pleasure to remove me from this life, I am content; knowing that in this life I can do no good thing, but rather that I shall always offend his majesty. If I have ever said a word or performed a deed that was pleasing to him, I know that I have always been impelled and moved by the Holy Spirit, when I have had any good thought, desire or wish, I have always recognised it to be from him and through his grace alone and whenever I have willed to conduct myself by my blind judgment, presumptive wisdom and diabolical spirit, I have always done the contrary and offended his divine majesty. I leave all, therefore, to God, the Supreme Father … and should he wish to take away all that he has given me, there would remain my sins alone, for these sins are mine and all other things are his; if I go with these sins before God, I am damned, if I wish to make satisfaction, I cannot. Indeed there is no saint who can take my sins for his and satisfy and placate the wrath of God, nor is there anyone who can do so save Jesus Christ. To him, therefore, I leave all my wretched thoughts, desires and acts and all my sins, past, present and future. I make a bundle of them and give them to Jesus Christ my Lord, with the certain faith and constant hope that he will, out of sublime charity, accept them for his.’

Sir James Graham's Factory Bill of 1843 has been examined from varied viewpoints by several writers. Partly planned as a legislative antidote to the conditions which had helped to provoke the ‘Plug Plot’ riots of 1842, the measure was important for two reasons: it would both considerably improve earlier textile factory reforms and provide reasonable education for child-workers. On both counts and on all sides it provoked major controversy.