It is a thousand miles from the coast of the land of Israel to the city of Rome, over the sea that is called in both Hebrew and Latin, “the Sea In-Between.” The closing chapters of the book of Acts tell of the Apostle Paul's journey over that sea, from Caesarea to Rome, around the year 60 C.E. By this time, of course, Paul had made many journeys in his life: from Tarsus to Jerusalem, Jerusalem to Damascus, to Ephesus, Athens, Corinth and numerous other cities east of Rome. At the conclusion of his Epistle to the Romans, Paul mentions that he planned to visit Rome as well, on his way to Spain. But as best we can tell, when Paul did finally come to Rome, his wanderings ended, for he came as a prisoner, and it was in Rome, according to Church tradition, that he was eventually put to death.

In the book of Acts, the portrayal of the events leading up to Paul's journey to Rome—its description of his arrest and subsequent appearances before various courts and authorities—is clearly reminiscent of the Gospel descriptions of Jesus' arrest and execution approximately thirty years earlier. In both accounts, we read of disturbances in the Temple, crowds of angry Jews calling for an innocent victim's death, his arrest and confrontations with both Jewish and Roman authorities, and acknowledgement by representatives of Rome of the victim's innocence. However, the conditions surrounding the two series of events suggest two very different historical moments. And Paul's response to those who would sit in judgment of him, and to the jurisdictions they represented, at least as recorded in Acts, suggests a sea of difference between Paul's outlook and that of his Lord.

Recent writings have uncovered a robust interaction between the spheres and sciences of law and religion. Law and religion are conceptually related. They embrace closely analogous concepts of sin and crime, covenant and contract, righteousness and justice. Law and religion are formally related. They both have patterns of liturgy and ritual, concepts of tradition and precedent, sources of authority and power. Law and religion are methodologically related. They maintain analogous hermeneutical methods of interpreting texts, casuistic and rhetorical methods of argument and instruction, systematic methods of organizing their doctrines. Law and religion are professionally related. They both have officials charged with the formulation, implementation, and demonstration of the norms and habits of their respective fields. Law and religion are institutionally related, through the multiple relations between political and ecclesiastical officials and institutions.

In County Of Allegheny v. American Civil Liberties Union, the United States Supreme Court held that the establishment clause of the first amendment of the Constitution did not permit Allegheny County, Pennsylvania to allow a local Catholic group to display a nativity scene inside the county courthouse. At the same time, however, the Court permitted a city display of a Chanukah menorah next to a Christmas tree on the steps of the Pittsburgh City Hall. The Court divided 5-to-4 in invalidating the creche and 6-to-3 in upholding the menorah, with no single opinion commanding a majority of the Court on the question of the Chanukah symbol. More importantly, the majority opinion officially adopted the Endorsement test, a new analytical tool which uses a case-by-case balancing approach in which constitutional judgments concerning religious symbols are dependent upon the physical setting of the particular practice.

The Endorsement test originates from a 1984 case, Lynch v. Donnelly, in which the Court upheld a city-sponsored nativity scene that was surrounded by Santa's reindeer, a wishing well and candy canes. Justice O'Connor's concurring opinion stressed that the result in each case should turn on the “unique circumstances” and “particular physical setting” involved. Her opinion specifically focused on whether the practice at issue would be perceived as a government endorsement of a religious belief. By incorporating the use of “perspectives” during the decision-making process, the Endorsement test reflects the contribution of neutrality as a theoretical standard which recognizes that individuals perceive the world differently, and that one individual's neutrality may be another's bias.

A problematic feature of clitic positioning attested in a number of languages is the ability of a clitic to appear inside a syntactic unit of which it is not itself a part, apparently due to prosodic restrictions on its positioning. The influence of prosody on syntax presents a challenge for any formal account, particularly any that strives to respect a modular view of the grammatical architecture. I present an account of clitic positioning within a recently proposed model of the syntax–phonology interface that aims at full modularity, showing that it is indeed possible in such an architecture, and showing where and how prosody and syntax interact in this model.

Somewhere near the heart of much recent liberal political theory is the claim that if the state restricts an agent's liberty, its restrictions should have some rationale that is defensible to each of those whose liberty is constrained. Liberals are committed to “the requirement that all aspects of the social should either be made acceptable or be capable of being made acceptable to every last individual.” In a pluralistic culture, there are many claims which are particularly controversial, many about which we expect “reasonable disagreement.” If we are to enjoy consensus regarding state restrictions, citizens should not support coercive policies on such controversial grounds. If, for example, some coercive policy is passed by popular referendum, and if its supporters have no reason to vote for the policy other than their religious convictions, then, given that reasonable, informed people reject religious belief, the policy in question lacks public justification. Given the liberal view that coercive policies should be defensible to all those affected by them, conscientious citizens should restrain themselves from supporting (or rejecting) policies on the basis of excessively controversial grounds. Principles of restraint specify both the types of grounds on the basis of which citizens may appropriately support a given policy and the types of grounds on which citizens may not properly rely.

We live in a world in which four fifths of its population live in frustration while the other fifth lives in fear. The United Nations, our world's “figleaf,” does not hide the shame of humanity but rather scandalizes humanity's malaise. It is troubling that the League of Nations and the United Nations were born after two world wars. Humanity's unity should come as a natural birth and not as the result of a caesarian section, i.e., through violent global wars. This is reminiscent of the ages of epidemics. Then, because of ignorance about the causes behind these illnesses, plagues swept through communities, leaving millions of dead behind. Yet, after technology made it possible for us to see smaller forms of life and medicine brought us a better understanding of germs, communities became better equipped to halt disease and heal the sufferers. If a country now is devastated by an epidemic, we blame it on the lack of sufficient hygiene. So too, the wars that erupt here and there are caused by ignorance of the intellectual organisms that infect communities with hate and influence people to commit atrocities. In today's world, relying on science, we concern ourselves with preventing germ warfare while sheltering the intellectual viruses that destroy us: our intellectual foods are still polluted. We cannot afford to continue to be confused or ignorant about these invasive germs.

Recently academic inquiry has taken up the challenging question of whether or not the “ancients” had any concept of human rights, or even possibly a functional equivalent. This question piqued the interest of the scholarly community in the summer of 1989 when former Prime Minister Thatcher, on a visit commemorating the bicentennial of the French Declaration of the Rights of Man, declared that Human Rights were to be credited to the Greeks in the first instance (and then, of course, to the British).

Apart from the interest raised by such provocative comments, there is further political interest (at least as far reaching in its implications) such a question has. This is for the simple reason that it is difficult for the modern mind to grasp the notion of a democracy without a concomitant idea of human rights—or at least the rights of citizens. Since we model our polis on the Greeks' and the Romans', the question of whether or not they had the equivalent of our rights is the natural follow on for any inquiring mind with a political bent.

What does it mean for a religious belief to be true? This question has been the subject of a rich theological and philosophical debate stretching back thousands of years. But times change, and the answers appropriate for one epoch will cease to fit new ones. As long as people continue to care about their religions and their beliefs, the question must be continually posed and competing answers evaluated.

In the United States, facially theological questions quickly take on constitutional dimensions, thanks to the religion clauses of the First Amendment. Government interaction with religion is inevitable, and ongoing public debate about the proper scope and limits of that interaction is a familiar and necessary component of our constitutional order. The meaning of “free exercise of religion” and its infringement is the continuously evolving product of litigation, legislation, and regulation pursued by state and private actors against a backdrop of assumed—and often contested—constitutional constraints and constitutional ideals.