Chapter 2 focuses on discussions of faith in John Donne’s religious prose. Donne often addresses such questions by turning to legal discourses. Processes of evaluating forensic testimony provide useful structures for measuring probability or certainty in evidence and the assent that it generates. This is exemplified in Donne’s Pseudo-Martyr, which relies on widely recognised rules about forensic testimony to discuss pressing questions regarding belief and its legitimacy in post-Reformation England. The chapter then shows how Donne adapts this legal handling of belief to address questions about salvation and certainty for a variety of audiences. To lawyers at Lincoln’s Inn, Donne uses the technicalities of civilian law to support and critique post-Reformation understandings of soteriology. To a broader congregation at St Paul’s, he deploys common law evidentiary procedures to show that, to a limited but helpful extent, the evidence of salvation can be apprehended through legal methods.

This book’s Introduction sets out the key intellectual and historical contexts for its argument. It shows that religious belief gained an important cultural emphasis after the Reformation and that it was considered to be distinct from other kinds of belief or assent. Engaging with scholarly discussions of belief, this introduction suggests that the period from around 1580 to the 1650s witnessed an attempt to investigate what was particular about a specifically religious kind of belief. Its certainty and spiritual origin were compared to, and contrasted with, other kinds of assent that were generated by probable forms of argument. An important and widespread way of effecting this comparison involved considering religious belief alongside the kinds of assent generated in legal settings – when witness evidence is evaluated for its credibility. The introduction roots this discursive method in contemporary legal culture, before surveying recent scholarship on literary culture, law and religion.

Chapter 3 considers Francis Bacon’s use of legal evidentiary procedures and the important role they play in his discussions of religious belief. Its first half is given over to a wide-ranging account of Bacon’s philosophical prose. It sets out to establish that Bacon uses his knowledge of Romano-canon law and its evidentiary practices to shape his methodological reforms for natural philosophy. This chapter applies the findings of this survey to Bacon’s prose fiction narrative, New Atlantis. Requirements for credible legal testimony are, on the one hand, shown to shape the style of Bacon’s narration. On the other, though, Bacon’s discussion of evangelical conversion shows that, as a spiritually derived form of assent, religious belief transcends such legally derived criteria for credibility. New Atlantis thus develops Bacon’s philosophical distinctions between faith and knowledge. It also asks probing questions about religious belief and intercultural encounters in early modernity.

Risk and uncertainty were structural to the Roman world, as was the case for other preindustrial empires. But their impact was not distributed equally. Social, economic, political, legal, military, and other inequalities pervaded Roman society and generated conditions of precarity. Precarity was experienced as a new relation to the Roman object world; as an impetus for experimentation but a brake on innovation; as a state of constant anticipation; as a troubled relation to place; and as a negotiation of horizontal and vertical relations of care.

Challenging typological definitions and unilineal evolution, this chapter advocates for a comparative methodology centered on understanding variation in trajectories of complexification. It underscores the limitations of “dichotomania” and the need for richer conceptual and linguistic tools to characterize societal variation.

Relativistic Approach to ‘Climate Justice’ in the Paris Agreement

The Paris Agreement is the first international climate agreement using the term ‘climate justice’ (13th preambular recital of the Paris Agreement). ‘Justice’ means ‘impartial adjustment of conflicting claims’, ‘conformity to truth, fact, or reason’ (Gove 1986, 1228), ‘morally right and fair’, and ‘fair and reasonable’ (Pearsall and Hanks 2001, 992–993). It refers to the moral foundations of conduct, political institutions, distribution, or minimum standards for individual rights (Beitz 1999, 270). Justice has a strong normative component that persists independently of individual convictions.

The idea of objective criteria that define justice has caused and continues to cause heated debates across disciplines, within and beyond the climate context (Gajevic Sayegh 2018; Murphy 2019, 80–82; Mi et al. 2019). This analysis seeks only to clarify the term ‘climate justice’ in the context of the Paris Agreement, not to review one of the biggest questions of the humanities. Still, it should be complex enough to capture the problem of justice in the broader climate context, covering the substantive (distributional) and procedural dimensions of justice.

The justice theory of Amartya Sen (2009) is well suited to understanding the ‘climate justice’ of the Paris Agreement, even though originally, Sen's approach is based on natural persons, not states. First, like the Paris Agreement, Sen recognizes more than one measure for justice (Sen 2009, 239–241, 272–290, 298, 395). Second, his approach does not depend on a final answer to universal justice questions; Sen rather provides orientation on how to increase justice in situations of incomplete information and uncertain weights of different measures of justice (Sen 2009, 259, 266–267, 398–400).

The book’s Conclusion develops the argument made by earlier chapters. It considers the variety of ways in which probable arguments, structured through imaginative engagements with legal forms of testimony, interacted with convictions and beliefs that were borne out of supernatural, spiritual influence. One key outcome of this discussion is the recognition that literature provided an important venue for comparing different kinds of belief and assent. Literary texts staged highly plausible legal cases, rooted in persuasively credible evidence; they could also qualify the force of these forensic arguments, especially when accounting for the ways in which religious belief was understood to work. This literary evaluation of modes of assent sheds new light on what it means to write a history of belief. The book ends by outlining a methodology that attends to texts and contexts where persuasive and probable modes of argument were afforded only provisional force.

The seventh chapter examines how, in the face of significant physical contraction in the sixth and seventh centuries, the entire Subura valley was reworked into a Christian processional landscape starting under Gregory I. Focusing on Mary as a civic intercessor, two ad hoc seven-form processions, which later became four annual processions, terminated at S. Maria (now Maior), spurring the foundation of several new churches along the Subura’s thoroughfares, all dedicated to virginal female saints. At this time, the Subura shows a marked concentration of female church dedications compared to the city at large.

The fourth chapter provides an impression of the rapid residential and commercial growth that took place in the Subura during the second and third centuries CE. The variety of evidence for domus, insulae, tabernae, and markets from across the valley is considered, as is the increased religious diversity outside state cults. Most importantly, a sizable Jewish community, with likely earlier origins, becomes apparent at this time.

Through three cases of short-lived terra sigillata ceramic production in Italy and Gaul, this chapter shows that experimentation was driven by those living precariously, in an attempt to make more from less, but was curbed by a lack of capital investment. This disjuncture between capital and human capital development helps explain both the presence of a wider skill spectrum than previously assumed for the Roman world and the structural limitations of Roman innovation, while putting into relief the plight of those without access to a capital asset portfolio.

Appearing at the tail end of this volume, I begin with a brief meditation on the coda. A (musical) ending, the vulgar form of cauda (tail or privy member), figure of our fallen state, the coda may also be a whip or goad to inspiration or even exaltation. Attempting to turn my posterior position to good ends, I have, in the place of an ending, used the chapters here as provocations and inspirations. Recognizing in them a more expansive account of legal performance than my own, I point to how they unbind law and performance from the rigid definitional strictures on which I have relied, how they challenge the boundaries between text and performance, performance and law, law and world, world and fiction (the veritas falsa of theatre and the falsitas verus of law), how they show the methodological Über-Ich (with its rules and dogmas) to be unseated by an ontological Id that scoffs at its laws. That force – like the comedic cauda in the courtroom – answers legal solemnities with impudent laughter and other “minor jurisprudences of refusal,” creating heterotopias, wild zones, rehearsals for alternative futures.