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There is a short but significant preface in which Augustine seeks to meet criticisms of his attempt to set out helpful rules for the interpretation of scripture. He insists that the teaching and learning of such rules are both useful and necessary, and compares his function to the teacher of the alphabet who enables people to read.

The interpretation of scripture depends on discovery and presentation; Augustine takes discovery first. All teaching is teaching of either things (including God, the supreme thing) or signs. Some things are to be enjoyed, some used; and much of this book is concerned with matters of ethics as he attempts to map this distinction onto the commands to love God and one's neighbour, the purpose of scripture being to build up this ‘double love’.

In this book, Augustine begins his discussion of signs, of which the greater part consists of words. After an interesting statement of the canon of scripture as he saw it, Augustine argues for the value of knowledge of languages, the utility of comparing different translations, and the importance of having at least some acquaintance with the subjects of traditional curriculum (music, history, logic, to name a few). To make clear, which of these may legitimately be studied by the Christian, he develops a distinction between disciplines instituted by humans, in some cases in concert with demons—and others, instituted by God, which are observed and developed by humans. This is made the basis for ‘spoiling the Egyptians’, in other words, the appropriation of pagan learning.

Augustine turns from unknown signs to ambiguous signs. How can the Christian reader resolve uncertainty? This may be due to difficulties of punctuation, difficult words, unclear manuscript readings, or figures of speech. An even greater problem, especially in the Old Testament, is that of distinguishing between literal and metaphorical expressions. The book finishes with an attempt to approach such matters systematically using the hermeneutic rules of the Donatist Tyconius.

Here, Augustine takes up his promise to deal with the question of how to present one's Biblical knowledge. This involves rhetoric to which Augustine, in a ground‐breaking departure, gives a firm though qualified welcome. In this book, there is extensive discussion, to a great extent conducted in terms of Ciceronian rhetorical theory, of the aims and styles appropriate to the Christian orator. But the book is also remarkable for its defence of the often inscrutable wisdom of scripture, and detailed analyses of its style according to classical criteria.

This chapter discusses the General Prologue of the Wycliffite Bible, written around 1395–1399. The prologue represents a central theoretical statement about the most important vernacularising project of the Lollard movement. It consists of eleven chapters that introduce the books of the Old Testament, the last four of which present a series of hermeneutical and compositional precepts such as those relating to the fourfold interpretation of Scripture and the seven rules of Tyconius. This chapter also considers Ciceronian rhetoric in relation to Wycliffite hermeneutical thought and Augustine's De doctrina christiana.

The theme of the two cities before Augustine is discussed, and its occurrence in Christian Scriptures (especially the Book of Revelation), with their symbolic use of the Jerusalem–Babylon antithesis, outlined. The theme and its ramifications in Tertullian, Lactantius, and Ambrose, and the role of the Donatist Tyconius as an influence on Augustine, are discussed. The possible influence on Augustine of the concept of contrasting cities, real and ideal, in Plato and the Platonic tradition, of the Stoic cosmic city, of the best city of Cicero’s Republic, and of the Jewish-Christian catechetical tradition, is investigated. The two cities’ theme in other writings of Augustine is surveyed, with extended citations.

Not all North African Christians accepted Cyprian’s exegetical logic, and this chapter focuses on three figures who rejected his emphasis on ritual purity: Pacian of Barcelona, Tyconius, and Augustine of Hippo. Pacian argued that the language of enclosure and purity in the Song did not necessitate that Christians be ethically perfect, but rather spoke to the absence of heresies and schisms in the true church. Tyconius used the Song to argue that evil people were inextricably mixed up with the good in the church. Augustine disputed the identification of the Song’s bride with the visible church, arguing that the sacramental community was the “lily among the thorns.”

This chapter explores the place of angels in the ordinary devotional practices of Anglo-Saxon England, as revealed through prayerbooks and liturgical manuscripts. Despite their reputation as a dubious strand of medieval religiosity, prayers for the assistance of angels became an accepted part of Christian practice during the early Middle Ages. The development of litanies was particularly important in transforming ecclesiastical opinions about the orthodoxy of angelic invocation. Not every angel invoked by name was, however, attested in the Bible. Many early medieval prayers continued to make use of the ‘forbidden’ names of non-canonical angels. Although this practice has sometimes been linked to a ‘shadow tradition’ of popular religion, the sources themselves attest only to the esotericism of learned intellectuals, and demonstrate that even the most unusual beliefs could only be expressed through established the channels of prayer.

Chapter 1 focuses on the ways in which Donatist appeals to the apocalyptic have been understood by those outside the dissident communion. Four patterns in particular are discussed. In the militant rhetoric of its early opponents, Donatist eschatological claims were dismissed as evidence of “madness.” By the nineteenth century, Donatists were no longer seen as madmen, but their apparent preoccupation with the end of the world caused many to brand them as anachronistic in an age of Christian emperors. Later reassessments would attempt to link apocalyptic rhetoric with socioeconomic protest against Roman oppression or attempt to downplay apocalyptic motifs altogether.

Chapter 4 examines the first of two competing Donatist apocalyptic trajectories which evolved between the cessation of the Macarian repression and the 411 Conference at Carthage: a tendency within mainstream Donatism to identify itself as a prophesied eschatological “remnant.” After first establishing the viability of such an interpretation within the dissident communion, the chapter uses the Epistula ad Catholicos and related texts to uncover three interlocking presuppositions shared by its proponents. First, they argued that the Gospel had already been preached to all nations. Second, that the world had entered into an age of apostasy: the prophesied “falling away.” Finally, that the scriptures had foretold the location of those who would remain faithful until the end: in the South of the world, i.e., North Africa.

Chapter 5 presents the apocalyptic model developed by the Donatist theologian Tyconius as a deliberate alternative to mainstream Donatist eschatology. Instead of viewing the Donatist communion as a prophesied remnant, Tyconius recasts the Donatist–Caecilianist schism as an eschatological symbol: while not itself an apocalyptic event, it is predicted in the book of Revelation as a sign and a warning to the worldwide church of the imminent “separation” between the true church and the false brothers within it. Though it ultimately failed to convince the members of his own communion, Tyconius’ strikingly original eschatology would dominate western apocalyptic exegesis for centuries.