Books like Summa Theologiae Prima Pars, 1-49 — picked by fans

Augustine wrote this account of his life (consisting of 13 books) when he was in his forties (ca. 398AD). It is theologically profound, prayerful and lyrical, emotionally charged, and strangely ‘modern’.

Augustine chronicles his search for identity and meaning and discovers that, paradoxically, he only finds his true self when he loses himself in God. (This explains the shift from the autobiographical to the more objective-theological in the last three books, where Augustine offers profound meditations on time and eternity, for instance).

When I read this book first, as a young man, I was deeply skeptical, if not hostile, to the Christian faith. The book proved quite literally life-changing for me: here was someone who could give an intellectually plausible and existentially appealing account of the Christian faith. 

This is Volume 3 of a major series covering Western spirituality from the era of the Church Fathers to the seventeenth century. Every volume contains a wealth of insights into medieval spirituality (and theology). This series is a monument of scholarship: nothing like this has ever been tempted by any scholar in the English-speaking world—and achieved with so much flair and expertise.

One would buy these books just for the bibliographies alone, even in an age of search engines. This volume covers Franciscan spirituality, women mystics, and beguines, including Hadewijch, Mechthild, and Marguerite Porete. Like the other volumes, it is lucid, informative, and comprehensive. Warmly recommended.  

This is a genuine classic. Denys Turner almost single-handedly made us re-evaluate the nature of ‘mysticism’ and spirituality. More in particular, he distances himself from typically modern interpretations of mysticism in terms of an immediate experience of God: given the traditional emphasis upon the unknowability of God, Turner argues that mysticism is not about an experience of God, but it offers ‘categories of experience’: the mystic, transformed by faith, hope, and love, relates to the world, others, and self in a radically different way.

Eckhart’s notion of detachment, involving a letting go or renunciation of the possessiveness that characterizes our ordinary dealings with the world, is a prime example. This may not be an easy read for people new to the field, but it deserves a close reading.

At over 500 pages, this is a solid survey of medieval theology, covering the entire period: from the late Patristic (Boethius, Gregory the Great, but not Augustine) and Carolingian era, the eleventh and twelfth centuries, scholasticism, to the late fourteenth century.

An excellent and highly scholarly work–but perhaps more a book you would consult and dip in rather than a book you would read from cover to cover. Even so, it is highly recommended. 

This book offers a vital perspective on the contending theological traditions that underpin the backdrop of the "conflict thesis."

I found Livingston’s insights to be invaluable. By investigating the Enlightenment and the subsequent developments in the 19th century, Livingston provides crucial context for understanding the origins of the perceived conflict between science and religion. His meticulous analysis illuminates the divergent theological currents that shaped intellectual discourse during this period.

For anyone seeking a comprehensive understanding of the complex interplay between faith and reason, this book is essential reading. It not only enriches our understanding of the past but also sheds light on contemporary discussions surrounding science, religion, and society.

I have found this book to be outstanding on almost all of life’s major philosophical questions, to the extent that I have not only read it at least a half dozen times but also taught it as a course, working through the book one chapter at a time.

It deals with arguably all the most important questions in life, including love, the problem of injustice and suffering, the existence of God, and human nature. I especially love C.S. Lewis’s ability to address deep subjects in everyday language in such an enjoyable and engaging way.

Exploring a spiritual tradition that predates by many centuries the fall/redemption ideology of mainstream Christianity (which Gandhi referred to as a "Christianity without Christ"), Fox presents an alternative quest for wisdom based on the fundamental conviction that we are, each one of us, born into this world not as blotches on creation but as blessings, precious, beloved and of enormous worth and promise.

Fox's theology eventually won him the ire of the Roman papacy and eventually expulsion from the Catholic Church. His response? "Sometimes you have to take your praise any way you can get it!"

Picking up a book on one of Christianity’s most complex and problematic councils is not for the faint-hearted.

I loved O’Malley’s ability to turn this meeting of over two thousand bishops into a gripping narrative about disagreement, debate, and renewal. What could have been a dry book about theology in his hands becomes a brilliant reflection on the internal divisions of the church and its relationship with progress. His careful eye for anecdotes and dignified humour is particularly attractive.

Unlike so many other close-minded Catholics, O’Malley is not scared to admit the politics of the council, its legacy, and its ongoing controversies. 

One of the foremost twentieth-century historians of medieval philosophy, Étienne Gilson took a lifelong interest in Dante, publishing Dante et la philosophie in 1939 (the translation Dante the Philosopher was published in 1946). The book is Gilson’s magisterial attempt to situate Dante’s thought in relation to the competing intellectual currents of his time.

What makes the book particularly fascinating for me is that it is also an anti-thesis, a reaction against another (arguably even better) book, the Dominican Pierre Mandonnet’s Dante le théologien, published in 1935 (a new edition with English translation, Dante the Theologian, will be published shortly). In reading Gilson’s volume, we enter into key debates not only about Dante’s thought but, also, about the very nature of Catholic philosophy and theology. 

As an Orthodox theologian, Behr-Sigel’s theological take was different enough from mine to keep me intrigued. That made her love of Mary, which I shared, even more powerful.

In her writing, I saw ideas I had felt were true but had not yet been able to put into words. Moreover, her collected writings demonstrate the ability to change one’s mind over time, giving me the encouragement that others could do the same.